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U  N  I  VLR5  ITY 
Of  ILLINOIS 

From  the  Library  of 
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Professor  of  Philosophy 
Acting  President  1933/34 
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Slbbotsfori)  (BiMtioii 


THE 

WAYERLEY  NOYELS, 

BY 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

COMPLETE 

IN  TWELVE  VOLUMES. 

PRINTED 

^rnm  tliE  lottat  fuglisli  dBMttnnH, 

EMBRACING 

THE  AUTHOR’S  LAST  CORRECTIONS,  PREFACES,  AND  NOTES. 

VOL.  XII. 

COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS— CASTLE  DANGEROUS— 
MY  AUNT  MARGARET’S  MIRROR,  &c.  &c. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
LIPPINCOTT,  GRAM  BO  &  CO. 

1853. 


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‘  p«ts«i 


COUNT  KOBEKT  OF  PAKIS. 


Tlie  European  with  the  Asian  shore  — 

Sophia’s  cupola  with  golden  gleam 
The  cypress  groves  — Olympus  high  and  hoar  — 

The  twelve  isles,  and  the  more  than  I  could  dream, 
Far  less  describe,  present  the  very  view 
That  charm’d  the  charming  Mary  Montagu. 

Don  Juan. 


ADVERTISEMENT.  — (1833.) 

Sir  Walter  Scott  transmitted  from  Naples,  in  February,  1832,  an  Intro¬ 
duction  for  Castle  Dangerous  ;  but  if  he  ever  wrote  one  for  a  second 
Edition  of  Robert  of  Paris,  it  has  not  been  discovered  among  his  papers. 

Some  notes,  chiefly  extracts  from  the  books  which  he  had  been  observed 
to  consult  while  dictating  this  novel,  are  now  appended  to  its  pages  ;  and  in 
addition  to  what  the  author  had  given  in  the  shape  of  historical  information 
respecting  the  principal  real  persons  introduced,  the  reader  is  here  presented 
with  what  may  probably  amuse  him,  the  passage  of  the  Alexiad,  in  which 
Anna  Comnena  describes  the  incident  which  originally,  no  doubt,  determined 
Sir  Walter’s  choice  of  a  hero. 

May,  A.  D.  1007. — “As  for  the  multitude  of  those  who  advanced  towards 
the  great  city,  let  it  be  enough  to  say  that  they  w’ere  as  the  stars  in  the 
heaven,  or  as  the  sand  upon  the  sea-shore.  They  were,  in  the  words  of 
Homer,  as  many  as  the  leaves  and  Jloivers  of  spring.  But  for  the  names  of 
the  leaders,  though  they  are  present  in  my  memory,  I  will  not  relate  them. 
The  numbers  of  these  would  alone  deter  me,  even  if  my  language  furnished 
the  means  of  expressing  their  barbarous  sounds ;  and  for  what  purpose 
should  I  afflict  my  readers  with  a  long  enumeration  of  the  names  of  those, 
whose  visible  presence  gave  so  much  horror  to  all  that  beheld  them  ? 

“  As  soon,  therefore,  as  they  approached  the  Great  City,,  they  occupied 
the  station  appointed  for  them  by  the  Emperor,  near  to  the  monastery  of 
Cosmidius.  But  this  multitude  were  not,  like  the  Hellenic  one  of  old,  to  be 
restrained  and  governed  by  the  loud  voices  of  nine  heralds ;  they  required 
the  constant  superintendence  of  chosen  and  valiant  soldiers,  to  keep  them 
from  violating  the  commands  of  the  Emperor. 

“  He,  meantime,  laboured  to  obtain  from  the  other  leaders  that  acknow¬ 
ledgment  of  his  supreme  authority,  which  had  already  been  drawn  from 
Godfrey  [Pot^ro^pf]  himself.  But,  notwithstanding  the  willingness  of  some 
to  accede  to  this  proposal,  and  their  assistance  in  working  on  the  minds  of 
their  associates,  the  Emperor’s  endeavours  had  little  success,  as  the  majority 
were  looking  for  the  arrival  of  Bohemund  in  whom  they  placed 

their  chief  confidence,  and  resorted  to  every  art  with  the  view  of  gaining 
time.  The  Emperor,  whom  it  w’as  not  easy  to  deceive,  penetrated  their 
motives  ;  and  by  granting  to  one  powerful  person  demands  which  had  been 
supposed  out  of  all  bounds  of  expectation,  and  by  resorting  to  a  variety  of 

A  2  (5) 


6 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


other  devices,  he  at  lonj^th  prevailed,  and  won  general  assent  to  the  follow¬ 
ing  of  the  example  of  Godfrey,  who  also  was  sent  for  in  person  to  assist  in 
this  business. 

“  All,  therefore,  being  assembled,  and  Godfrey  among  them,  the  oath  was 
taken  ;  but  when  all  was  finished,  a  certain  Noble  among  these  Counts  had 
the  audacity  to  seat  himself  on  the  throne  of  the  Emperor.  [To'kfxrinai  tii 
ario  Tiaviutv  tccv  xoixrjttov  tov  axiixrtoSa  tov  ixaScafv.^  The 

Emperor  restrained  himself  and  said  nothing,  for  he  was  well  acquainted 
of  old  with  the  nature  of  the  Latins. 

“  But  the  Count  Baldwin  [Ba>.6outrof]  stepping  forth,  and  seizing  him  by 
the  hand,  dragged  him  thence,  and  with  many  reproaches  said,  ‘  It  becomes 
thee  not  to  do  such  things  here,  especially  after  having  taken  the  oath  of 
fealty.  It  is  not  the  custom  of  the  Homan  Emperors 

to  permit  any  of  their  inferiors  to  sit  beside  them,  not  even  of  such  as  are 
born  subjects  of  their  empire ;  and  it  is  necessary  to  respect  the  customs 
of  the  country.’  But  he,  answering  nothing  to  Baldwin,  stared  yet  more 
fixedly  upon  the  Emperor,  and  muttered  to  himself  something  in  his  own 
dialect,  which,  being  interpreted,  was  to  this  effect  —  ‘Behold,  w'hat  rustic 
fellow  is  this,  to  be  seated  alone  while  such  leaders  stand  around 

him!’  The  movement  of  his  lips  did  not  escape  the  Emperor,  who  called 
to  him  one  that  understood  the  Latin  dialect,  and  enquired  what  words  the 
man  had  spoken.  When  he  heard  them,  the  Emperor  said  nothing  to  the 
other  Latins,  but  kept  the  thing  to  himself.  When,  however,  the’ business 
was  all  over,  he  called  near  to  him  by  himself  that  swelling  and  shameless 
Latin  (xslpov  xat  and  asked  of  him,  who  he  was,  of  what 

lineage,  and  from  what  region  he  had  come.  ‘  I  am  a  Frank,’  said  he,  ‘  of 
pure  blood,  of  the  Nobles.  One  thing  I  know,  that  where  three  roads  meet 
in  the  place  from  which  I  came,  there  is  an  ancient  church,  in  which  who¬ 
soever  has  the  desire  to  measure  himself  against  another  in  single  combat, 
prays  God  to  help  him  therein,  and  afterwards  abides  the  coming  of  one 
willing  to  encounter  him.  At  that  spot  long  time  did  I  remain,  but  the 
man  bold  enough  to  stand  against  me  I  found  not.’  Hearing  these  words 
the  Emperor  said,  ‘  If  hitherto  thou  hast  sought  battles  in  vain,  the  time  is 
at  hand  which  will  furnish  thee  with  abundance  of  them.  And  I  advise 
thee  to  place  thyself  neither  before  the  phalanx,  nor  in  its  rear,  but  to 
stand  fast  in  the  midst  of  thy  fellow-soldiers ;  for  of  old  time  I  am  well 
acquainted  with  the  warfare  of  the  Turks.’  With  such  advice  he  dismissed 
not  only  this  man,  but  the  rest  of  those  who  were  about  to  depart  on  that 
expedition.” — Alexiad,  Book  x.  pp.  237,  238. 

Ducange,  as  is  mentioned  in  the  novel,  identifies  the  church,  thus  de¬ 
scribed  by  the  crusader,  with  that  of  Our  Lady  of  Soissons,  of  which  a 
French  poet  of  the  days  of  Louis  VII.  says — 

VeiOer  y  vont  encore  li  Pelerin 

Cil  qui  bataille  veulent  fere  et  fournir. 

Ducange  in  Alexiad,  p.  86. 

The  Princess  Anna  Comnena,  it  may  be  proper  to  observe,  was  born  on 
the  first  of  December,  a.d.  1083,  and  was  consequently  in  her  fifteenth  year 
when  the  chiefs  of  the  first  crusade  made  their  appearance  in  her  father’s 
court.  Even  then,  however,  it  is  not  improbable  that  she  might  have  been 
the  wife  of  Nicephorus  Bryennius,  whom,  many  years  after  his  death,  she 
speaks  of  in  her  history  as  tov  e/xov  Kataapa,  and  in  other  terms  equally 
afifectionate.  The  bitterness  with  which  she  uniformly  mentions  Bohe- 
raund.  Count  of  Tarentum,  afterwards  Prince  of  Antioch,  has,  however, 
been  ascribed  to  a  disappointment  in  love  ;  and  on  one  remarkable  occasion, 
the  Princess  certainly  expressed  great  contempt  of  her  husband.  I  am 
aware  of  no  other  authorities  for  the  liberties  taken  with  this  lady’s  con¬ 
jugal  character  in  the  novel. 

Her  husband,  Nicephorus  Bryennius,  was  the  grandson  of  the  person  of 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS.  7 


that  name,  who  figures  in  history  as  the  rival,  in  a  contest  for  the  imperial 
throne,  of  Nicephorus  Botoniates.  He  was,  on  his  marriage  with  Anmi 
Comnena,  invested  with  the  rank  of  Panhypersehastos,  or  Omnium  Aiigus'~ 
tissinuis  ;  but  Alexius  deeply  olfended  him,  by  afterwards  recognising  the 
superior  and  simpler  dignity  of  a  Sehastos.  liis  eminent  qualities,  both  in 
peace  and  war,  are  acknowledged  by  Gibbon  :  and  he  has  left  us  four 
books  of  Memoirs,  detailing  the  early  part  of  his  father-in-law’s  history, 
and  valuable  as  being  the  work  of  an  eye-wdtness  of  the  most  important 
events  which  he  describes.  Anna  Comnena  appears  to  have  considered  it 
her  duty  to  take  up  the  task  which  her  husband  had  not  lived  to  complete ; 
and  hence  the  Alexiad  —  certainly,  wdth  all  its  defects,  the  first  historical 
work  that  has  as  yet  proceeded  from  a  female  pen. 

“  The  life  of  the  Emperor  Alexius,”  (says  Gibbon,)  “has  been  delineated 
by  the  pen  of  a  favourite  daughter,  w’ho  was  inspired  by  tender  regard  for 
his  person,  and  a  laudable  zeal  to  perpetuate  his  virtues.  Conscious  of  the 
just  suspicion  of  her  readers,  the  Princess  repeatedly  protests,  that,  besides 
her  personal  knowledge,  she  had  searched  the  discourses  and  writings  of  the 
most  respectable  veterans ;  and  that  after  an  interval  of  thirty  years,  for¬ 
gotten  by,  and  forgetful  of  tiie  world,  her  mournful  solitude  was  inaccessible 
to  hope  and  fear :  that  truth,  the  naked  perfect  truth,  was  more  dear  than 
the  memory  of  her  parent.  Yet  instead  of  the  simplicity  of  stylo  and  nar¬ 
rative  which  wins  our  belief,  an  elaborate  affectation  of  rhetoric  and  science 
betrays  in  every  page  the  vanity  of  a  female  author.  The  genuine  character 
of  Alexius  is  lost  in  a  vague  constellation  of  virtues;  and  the  perpetual  strain 
of  panegyric  and  apology  awakens  our  jealousy,  to  question  the  veracity  of 
the  historian,  and  the  merit  of  her  hero.  We  cannot,  however,  refuse  her 
judicious  and  important  remark,  that  the  disorders  of  the  times  w'cre  the 
misfortune  and  the  glory  of  Alexius ;  and  that  every  calamity  which  can 
afflict  a  declining  empire  was  accumulated  on  his  reign  by  the  justice  of 
Heaven  and  the  vices  of  his  predecessors.  In  the  east,  the  victorious  Turks 
had  spread,  from  Persia  to  the  Hellespont,  the  reign  of  the  Koran  and  the 
Crescent;  the  west  was  invaded  by  the  adventurous  valour  of  the  Normans; 
and,  in  the  moments  of  peace,  the  Danube  poured  forth  new  swarms,  who 
had  gained  in  the  science  of  war  what  they  had  lost  in  the  ferociousness  of 
their  manners.  The  sea  was  not  less  hostile  than  the  land ;  and,  ’while  the 
frontiers  were  assaulted  by  an  open  enemy,  the  palace  was  distracted  with 
secret  conspiracy  and  treason. 

“On  a  sudden,  the  banner  of  the  Cross  was  displayed  by  the  Latins; 
Europe  'was  precipitated  on  Asia;  and  Constantinople  had  almost  been 
swept  away  by  this  impetuous  deluge.  In  the  tempest  Alexius  steered  the 
Imperial  vessel  with  dexterity  and  courage.  At  the  head  of  his  armies,  he 
was  bold  in  action,  skilful  in  stratagem,  patient  of  fatigue,  ready  to  improve 
his  advantages,  and  rising  from  his  defeats  with  inexhaustible  vigour.  The 
discipline  of  the  camp  was  reversed,  and  a  new  generation  of  men  and 
soldiers  was  created  by  the  precepts  and  example  of  their  leader.  In  his 
intercourse  with  the  Latins,  Alexius  was  patient  and  artful ;  his  discerning 
eye  pervaded  the  new  system  of  an  unknown  world. 

“  The  increase  of  the  male  and  female  branches  of  his  family  adorned  tho 
throne,  and  secured  the  succession  ;  but  their  princely  luxury  and  pride 
oJfendeil  the  patricians,  exhausted  the  revenue,  and  insulted  the  misery  of 
the  pet)ple.  Anna  is  a  faithful  witness  that  his  happiness  was  destroyed 
and  his  health  broken  by  the  cares  of  a  public  life ;  the  patience  of  Constan¬ 
tinople  was  fixtigued  by  the  length  and  severity  of  his  reign  ;  and  befero 
Alexius  expired,  he  had  lost  the  love  and  reverence  of  his  subjects.  Tho 
clergy  could  not  forgive  his  application  of  the  sacred  riches  to  the  defenco 
of  the  state  ;  but  they  applauded  his  theological  learning,  and  ardent  zeal 
for  the  orthodox  faith,  xvhich  he  defended  with  his  tongue,  his  pen,  and  his 
sword.  Even  the  sincerity  of  his  moral  and  religious  virtues  was  suspected 


8 


W  A  V  E  R  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 


b}'  the  persons  who  had  passed  their  lives  in  his  confidence.  In  his  last 
hours,  when  he  Avas  pressed  by  his  wife  Irene  to  alter  the  succession,  he 
raised  his  head,  and  breathed  a  pious  ejaculation  on  the  vanity  of  the  world. 
The  indignant  reply  of  the  Empress  may  be  inscribed  as  an  epitaph  on  his 
tomb, — ‘  You  die,  as  you  have  lived — a  hypocrite.’ 

“  It  was  the  wish  of  Irene  to  supplant  the  eldest  of  her  sons  in  favour  of 
her  daughter,  the  Princess  Anna,  whose  philosophy  would  not  have  refused 
the  weight  of  a  diadem.  But  the  order  of  male  succession  was  asserted  by 
the  friends  of  their  country ;  the  lawful  heir  drew  the  royal  signet  from  tho 
finger  of  his  insensible  or  conscious  father,  and  the  empire  obeyed  the  master 
of  the  palace.  Anna  Comnena  was  stimulated  by  ambition  and  revenge  to 
conspire  against  the  life  of  her  brother ;  and  when  the  design  was  prevented 
by  the  fears  or  scruples  of  her  husband,  she  passionately  exclaimed  that 
nature  had  mistaken  the  two  sexes,  and  had  endowed  Bryennius  with  the 
soul  of  a  woman.  After  the  discovery  of  her  treason,  the  life  and  fortune 
of  Anna  were  justly  forfeited  to  the  laws.  Her  life  was  spared  by  the 
clemency  of  the  Emperor,  but  he  visited  the  pomp  and  treasures  of  her 
palace,  and  bestowed  the  rich  confiscation  on  the  most  deserving  of  his 
friends.”  —  History  of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  chap, 
xlviii. 

The  year  of  Anna’s  death  is  nowhere  recorded.  She  appears  to  have 
written  the  Alexiad  in  a  convent ;  and  to  have  spent  nearly  thirty  years  in 
this  retirement,  before  her  book  was  published. 

For  accurate  particulars  of  the  public  events  touched  on  in  Robert  of 
Paris,  the  reader  is  referred  to  the  above  quoted  author,  chapters  xlviii. 
xlix.  and  1. ;  and  to  the  first  volume  of  Mills’  History  of  the  Crusades. 

J.  G.  L. 

London,  let  March,  1833. 


INTRODUCTORY  ADDRESS. 


JEDEDIAH  CLEISHBOTHAM,  A.M. 

TO  THE  LOVING  READER  WISHETH  HEALTH  AND  PROSPERITY. 

It  would  ill  become  me,  whose  name  has  been  spread  abroad  by  those 
former  collections  bearing  this  title  of  “Tales  of  my  Landlord,”  and  who 
have,  by  the  candid  voice  of  a  numerous  crowd  of  readers,  been  taught  to 
think  that  I  merit  not  the  empty  fame  alone,  but  also  the  more  substantial 
rewards,  of  successful  pencraft — it  would,  I  say,  ill  become  me  to  suffer  this  „ 
my  youngest  literary  babe,  and,  probably  at  the  same  time,  the  last  child 
of  mine  old  age,  to  pass  into  the  world  without  some  such  modest  apology 
for  its  defects,  as  it  has  been 'my  custom  to  put  forth  on  preceding  occasions 
of  the  like  nature.  The  world  has  been  sufficiently  instructed,  of  a  truth, 
that  I  am  not  individually  the  person  to  whom  is  to  be  ascribed  the  actual 
inventing  or  designing  of  the  scheme  upon  which  these  Tales,  which  men 
have  found  so  pleasing,  were  originally  constructed,  as  also  that  neither  am 
I  the  actual  workman,  who,  furnished  by  a  skilful  architect  with  an  accu¬ 
rate  plan,  including  elevations  and  directions  both  general  and  particular, 
has  from  thence  toiled  to  bring  forth  and  complete  the  intended  shape  and 
proportion  of  each  division  of  the  edifice.  Nevertheless,  I  have  been  indis¬ 
putably  the  man,  who,  in  placing  my  name  at  the  head  of  the  undertaking, 


INTRODUCTORY  ADDRESS. 


0 


have  rendered  myself  mainly  and  principally  responsible  for  its  general 
success.  When  a  ship  of  Avar  goeth  forth  to  battle  Avith  her  creAV,  consist- 
ing_of  sundry  foremast-men  and  various  officers,  such  subordinate  persons 
are  not  said  to  gain  or  lose  the  vessel  Avhich  they  haA^e  manned  or  attacked, 
(although  each  Avas  natheless  sufficiently  active  in  his  OAvn  department;) 
but  it  is  fortliAvith  bruited  and  noised  abroad,  Avithout  further  phrase,  that 
Captain  Jedediah  Cleishbotham  hath  lost  such  a  seventy-four,  or  Avon  that 
Avhich,  by  the  united  exertions  of  all  thereto  perbiining,  is  taken  from  the 
enemy.  In  the  same  manner,  shame  and  sorroAV  it  Avere,  if  I,  the  voluntary 
Captain  and  founder  of  these  adventures,  after  having  upon  three  divers 
occasions  assumed  to  myself  the  emolument  and  reputation  thereof,  should 
noAV  Avithdraw  myself  from  tfTe  risks  of  failure  proper  to  this  fourth  and 
last  out-going.  No !  I  Avill  rather  address  my  associates  in  this  bottom  Avith 
the  constant  spirit  of  MatthcAV  Prior’s  heroine : 

“  Did  I  but  purpose  to  embark  with  thee 
On  the  smooth  surface  of  some  summer  sea. 

But  would  forsake  the  waves,  and  make  the  shore, 

When  the  winds  whistle,  and  the  billows  roar  1” 

As  little,  nevertheless,  Avould  it  become  my  years  and  station  not  to  admit 
Avithout  cavil  certain  errors  which  may  justly  be  pointed  out  in  these  con¬ 
cluding  “  Tales  of  my  Landlord,” — the  last,  and,  it  is  manife8{,  never  care¬ 
fully  revised  or  corrected  handiwork,  of  Mr.  Peter  Pattison,  noAV  no  more ; 
the  same  Avorthy  young  man  so  repeatedly  mentioned  in  these  Introductory 
Essays,  and  never  without  that  tribute  to  his  good  sense  and  talents,  nay, 
even  genius,  Avhich  his  contributions  to  this  my  undertaking  fairly  entitled 
him  to  claim  at  the  hands  of  his  surviving  friend  and  patron.  Those  pages, 
I  have  said,  Avere  the  \dtimus  labor  of  mine  ingenious  assistant;  but  I  say 
not,  as  the  great  Dr.  Pitcairn  of  his  hero  —  ultimus  alque  opiinms.  Alas! 
even  the  giddiness  attendant  on  a  journey  on  this  Manchester  rail-road  is 
not  so  perilous  to  the  nerves,  as  that  too  frequent  exercise  in  the  merry-go- 
round  of  the  ideal  world,  Avhereof  the  tendency  to  render  the  fancy  confused, 
and  the  judgment  inert,  hath  in  all  ages  been  noted,  not  only  by  the  erudite 
of  the  earth,  but  even  by  many  of  the  thick-witted  Ofelli  themseh'es ; 
whether  the  rapid  pace  at  Avhich  the  fancy  nioveth  in  such  exercitations, 
where  the  Avish  of  the  penman  is  to  him  like  Prince  Iloussain’s  tapestry,  in 
the  Eastern  fable,  be  the  chief  source  of  peril  —  or  Avhether,  Avithout  refe¬ 
rence  to  this  Avearing  speed  of  movement,  and  dAvelling  habitually  in  those 
realms  of  imagination,  be  as  little  suited  for  a  man’s  intellect,  as  to  breathe 
for  any  considerable  space  “the  difficult  air  of  the  mountain  top”  is  to  the 
physical  structure  of  his  outward  frame — this  question  belongeth  not  to  me; 
but  certain  it  is,  that  we  often  discover  in  the  works  of  the  foremost  of  this 
order  of  men,  marks  of  bewilderment  and  confusion,  such  as  do  not  so  fre¬ 
quently  occur  in  those  of  persons  to  whom  nature  hath  conceded  fancy 
weaker  of  wing,  or  less  ambitious  in  flight. 

It  is  affecting  to  see  the  great  Miguel  Cervantes  himself,  CA^en  like  the  sons 
of  meaner  men,  defending  himself  against  the  critics  of  the  day,  who  assailed 
him  upon  such  little  discrepancies  and  inaccuracies  as  are  apt  to  cloud  the 
progress  even  of  a  mind  like  his,  when  the  evening  is  closing  around  it. 
“  It  is  quite  a  common  thing,”  says  Don  Quixote,  “  for  men  AA'ho  have  gained 
a  very  great  reputation  by  their  Avritings  before  they  were  printed,  quite  to 
lose  it  afterwards,  or,  at  least,  the  greater  part.”  —  “The  reason  is  plain,” 
answers  the  Bachelor  Carrasco ;  “  their  faults  are  more  easily  discovered 
after  the  books  are  printed,  as  being  then  more  read,  and  more  narrowly 
examined,  especially  if  the  author  has  been  much  cried  up  before,  for  then 
the  severity  of  the  scrutiny  is  sure  to  be  the  greater.  Those  who  have 
raised  themseh^es  a  name  by  their  OAvn  ingenuity,  great  poets  and  celebrated 
historians,  are  commonly,  if  not  ahvays,  envied  by  a  set  of  men  Avho  delight 
in  censuring  the  Avritings  of  others,  though  they  could  never  produce  any 
of  their  OAvn.” — “  That  is  no  Avonder,”  quoth  Don  Quixote  ;  “  there  are  many 


10 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


divines  that  would  make  but  very  dull  preachers,  and  yet  are  quick  enough 
"at  finding  faults  and  superfluities  in  other  men’s  sermons.” — “  All  this  is 
true,”  says  Carrasco,  “  an(^ therefore  I  could  wish  such  censurers  would  be 
more  merciful  and  less  scrupulous,  and  not  dwell  ungenerously  upon  small 
spots  that  are  in  a  manner  but  so  many  atoms  on  the  face  of  the  clear  sun 
they  murmur  at.  If  aliquando  dormitat  Homerus,  let  them  consider  how 
many  nights  he  kept  himself  awake  to  bring  his  noble  works  to  light  as 
little  darkened  with  defects  as  might  be.  But,  indeed,  it  may  many  times 
happen,  that  what  is  censured  for  a  fault,  is  rather  an  ornament,  as  moles 
often  add  to  the  beauty  of  a  face.  When  all  is  said,  he  that  publishes  a 
book,  runs  a  great  risk,  since  nothing  can  be  so  unlikely  as  that  he  should 
have  composed  one  capable  of  securing  the^approbation  of  every  reader.” 
—  “  Sure,”  says  Don  Quixote,  “  that  which  treats  of  me  can  have  pleased 
but  few?”  —  “Quite  the  contrary,”  says  Carrasco;  “for  as  infinitus  est 
numerus  siultorum,  so  an  infinite  number  have  admired  your  history.  Only 
some  there  are  who  have  taxed  the  author  with  want  of  memory  or  sincerity, 
because  he  forgot  to  give  an  account  who  it  was  that  stole  Sancho’s  Dapple, 
for  that  particular  is  not  mentioned  there,  only  we  find,  by  .the  story,  that 
it  was  stolen ;  and  yet,  by  and  by,  we  find  him  riding  the  same  ass  again, 
without  any  previous  light  given  us  into  the  matter.  Then  they  say  that 
the  author  forgot  to  tell  the  reader  what  Sancho  did  with  the  hundred  pieces 
of  gold  he  found  in  the  portmanteau  in  the  Sierra  Morena,  for  there  is  not 
a  word  said  of  them  more ;  and  many  people  have  a  great  mind  to  know 
what  he  did  with  them,  and  how  he  spent  them  ;  which  is  one  of  the  most 
material  points  in  which  the  work  is  defective.” 

How  amusingly  Sancho  is  made  to  clear  up  the  obscurities  thus  alluded 
to  by  the  Bachelor  Carrasco  —  no  reader  can  have  forgotten  ;  but  there  re¬ 
mained  enough  of  similar  lacvnce,  inadvertencies,  and  mistakes,  to  exercise 
the  ingenuity  of  those  Spanish  critics,  who  were  too  wise  in  their  own  con¬ 
ceit  to  profit  by  the  good-natured  and  modest  apology  of  this  immortal 
author. 

There  can  be  no  doubt,  that  if  Cervantes  had  deigned  to  use  it,  he  might 
have  pleaded  also  the  apology  of  indifferent  health,  under  which  he  certainly 
laboured  while  finishing  the  second  part  of  “  Don  Quixote.”  It  must  be  too 
obvious  that  the  intervals  of  such  a  malady  as  then  affected  Cervantes,  could 
not  be  the  most  favourable  in  the  world  for  revising  lighter  compositions, 
and  correcting,  at  least,  those  grosser  errors  and  imperfections  which  each 
author  should,  if  it  were  but  for  shame’s  sake,  remove  from  his  work,  before 
bri  nging  it  forth  into  the  broad  light  of  day,  where  they  will  never  fail  to 
be  distinctly  seen,  nor  lack  ingenious  persons,  who  will  be  too  happy  in  dis¬ 
charging  the  office  of  pointing  them  out. 

It  is  more  than  time  to  explain  with  what  purpose  we  have  called  thus 
fully  to  memory  the  many  venial  errors  of  the  inimitable  Cervantes,  and 
those  passages  in  which  he  has  rather  defied  his  adversaries  than  pleaded 
his  own  justification ;  for  I  suppose  it  will  be  readily  granted,  that  the  diffe¬ 
rence  is  too  wide  betwixt  that  great  wit  of  Spain  and  ourselves,  to  permit 
us  to  use  a  buckler  which  was  rendered  sufficiently  formidable  only  by  the 
strenuous  hand  in  which  it  was  placed. 

The  history  of  my  first  publications  is  sufficiently  well  known.  Nor  did 
I  relinquish  the  purpose  of  concluding  these  “  Tales  of  my  Landlord,’^ 
which  had  been  so  remarkably  fortunate ;  but  Death,  which  steals  upon  us 
all  with  an  inaudible  foot,  cut  short  the  ingenious  young  man  to  whose 
memory  I  composed  that  inscription,  and  erected,  at  my  own  charge,  that 
monument  which  protects  his  remains,  by  the  side  of  the  river  Gander, 
which  he  has  contributed  so  much  to  render  immortal,  and  in  a  place  of  his 
own  selection,  not  very  distant  from  the  school  under  my  care.*  In  a  word, 
the  ingenious  Mr.  Pattison  was  removed  from  his  place. 

•  See  Vol.  II.  of  the  present  Edition,  for  some  circumstances  attending  this  erection. 


INTRODUCTORY  ADDRESS. 


11 


Nor  (lid  I  confine  my  care  to  his  posthumous  fame  alone,  hut  carefully 
inventoried  and  preserved  the  etfects  which  he  left  behind  him,  namely,  the 
contents  of  his  small  wardrobe,  and  a  number  of  printed  books  of  somewhat 
more  conserpienco,  together  with  certain  wofully  blurred  manuscripts,  dis¬ 
covered  in  his  repository.  On  looking  these  over,  I  found  them  to  contain 
two  Tales  called  “  Count  Robert  of  Paris,”  and  “  Castle  Dangerous but 
was  seriously  disappointed  to  perceive  that  they  were  by  no  means  in  that 
state  of  correctness,  which  would  induce  an  experienced  person  to  pronounce 
any  writing,  in  the  technical  language  of  bookcraft,  “  prepared  for  press.” 
There  were  not  only  hiatus  valde  dejlendi,  but  even  grievous  inconsistencies, 
and  other  mistakes,  which  the  penman's  leisurely  revision,  had  he  been 
spared  to  bestow  it,  would  doubtless  have  cleared  away.  After  a  considerate 
perusal,  I  no  question  flattered  myself  that  these  manuscripts,  with  all  their 
faults,  contained  here  and  there  passages,  which  seemed  plainly  to  intimate 
that  severe  indisposition  had  been  unable  to  extinguish  altogether  the  bril¬ 
liancy  of  that  fancy  which  the  world  had  been  pleased  to  acknowledge' in 
the  creations  of  Old  Mortality,  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor,  and  others  of 
these  narratives.  But  I,  nevertheless,  threw  the  manuscripts  into  my 
drawer,  resolving  not  to  think  of  committing  them  to  the  Ballantynian 
ordeal,  until  I  could  either  obtain  the  assistance  of  some  capable  person  to 
supply  deficiencies,  and  correct  errors,  so  as  they  might  face  the  public 
with  credit,  or  perhaps  numerous  and  more  serious  avocations  might  permit 
me  to  dedicate  my  own  time  and  labour  to  that  task. 

While  I  was  in  this  uncertainty,  I  had  a  visit  from  a  stranger,  who  was 
announced  as  a  young  gentleman  desirous  of  speaking  with  me  on  particular 
business.  I  immediately  augured  the  accession  of  a  new  boarder,  but  was 
at  once  checked  by  observing  that  the  outward  man  of  the  stranger  was,  in 
a  most  remarkable  degree,  what  mine  host  of  the  Sir  William  Wallace,  in 
his  phraseology,  calls  seedy.  Ilis  black  cloak  had  seen  service  ;  the  waist¬ 
coat  of  grey  plaid  bore  yet  stronger  marks  of  having  encountered  more  than 
one  campaign  ;  his  third  piece  of  dress  was  an  absolute  veteran  compared 
to  the  others ;  his  shoes  were  so  loaded  with  mud  as  showed  his  journey 
must  have  been  pedestrian  ;  and  a  grey  maud,  which  fluttered  around  his 
wasted  limbs,  completed  suclt,  an  equipment  as,  since  Juvenal’s  days,  has 
been  the  livery  of  the  poor  scholar.  1  therefore  concluded  that  I  beheld  a 
candidate  for  the  vacant  office  of  usher,  and  prepared  to  listen  to  his  pro¬ 
posals  with  the  dignity  becoming  my  station ;  but  what  was  my  surprise 
when  1  found  1  had  before  me,  in  this  rusty  student,  no  less  a  man  than 
Paul,  the  brother  of  Peter  Pattison,  come  to  gather  in  his  brother’s  succes¬ 
sion,  and  possessed,  it  seemed,  with  no  small  idea  of  the  value  of  that  part 
of  it  which  consisted  in  the  productions  of  his  pen  ! 

By  the  rapid  study  I  made  of  him,  this  Paul  was  a  sharp  lad,  imbued 
with  some  tincture  of  letters,  like  his  regretted  brother,  but  totally  destitute 
of  those  amiable  qualities  which  had  often  induced  me  to  say  within  myself, 
that  Peter  was,  like  the  famous  John  Gay, — 

“  In  wit  a  man,  simplicity  a  child." 

lie  set  little  by  the  legacy  of  my  deceased  assistant’s  wardrobe,  nor  did 
the  books  hold  much  greater  value  in  his  eyes:  but  he  peremptorily  de¬ 
manded  to  be  put  in  possession  of  the  manuscripts,  alleging,  with  obstinacy, 
that  no  definite  bargain  had  been  completed  between  his  late  brother  and 
me,  and  at  length  produced  the  opinion  to  that  effect  of  a  writer,  or  man  of 
business,  —  a  class  of  persons  with  whom  I  have  always  chosen  to  have  as 
little  concern  as  possible. 

But  I  had  one  defence  left,  which  came  to  my  aid,  tanquam  deus  ex 
machind.  This  rapacious  Paul  Pattison  could  not  pretend  to  wrest  the  dis¬ 
puted  manuscripts  out  of  my  possession,  unless  upon  repayment  of  a  con¬ 
siderable  sum  of  money,  which  I  had  advanced  from  time  to  time  to  the 


12 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


deceased  Peter,  and  particularly  to  purchase  a  small  annuity  for  his  aged 
mother.  These  advances,  with  the  charges  of  the  funeral  and  other  ex¬ 
penses,  amounted  to  a  considerable  sum,  which  the  poverty-struck  student 
and  his  acute  legal  adviser  equally  foresaw  great  difficulty  in  liquidating. 
The  said  Mr.  Paul  Pattison,  therefore,  listened  to  a  suggestion,  which  I 
dropped  as  if  by  accident,  that  if  he  thought  himself  capable  of  tilling  his 
brother’s  place  of  carrying  the  work  through  the  press,  1  would  make  him 
welcome  to  bed  and  board  within  my  mansion  while  he  was  thus  engaged, 
only  requiring  his  occasional  assistance  at  hearing  the  more  advanced 
scholars.  This  seemed  to  promise  a  close  of  our  dispute,  alike  satistiictory 
to  all  parties,  and  the  tirst  act  of  Paul  was  to  draw  on  me  for  a  round  sum, 
under  pretence  that  his  wardrobe  must  be  wholly  retitted.  To  this  I  made 
no  objection,  though  it  certainly  showed  like  vanity  to  purchase  garments 
in  the  extremity  of  the  mode,  when  not  only  great  part  of  the  defunct’s 
habiliments  were  very  tit  for  a  twelvemonth’s  use,  but  as  I  myself  had  been, 
but  yesterday  as  it  were,  equipped  in  a  becoming  new  stand  of  black  clothes, 
Mr.  Pattison  would  have  been  welcome  to  the  use  of  such  of  my  quondam 
raiment  as  he  thought  suitable,  as  indeed  had  always  been  the  case  with  his 
deceased  brother. 

The  school,  I  must  needs  say,  came  tolerably  on.  My  youngster  was  very 
smart,  and  seemed  to  be  so  active  in  his  duty  of  usher,  if  I  may  so  speak, 
that  he  even  overdid  his  part  therein,  and  I  began  to  feel  myself  a  cipher  in 
my  own  school. 

I  comforted  myself  with  the  belief  that  the  publication  was  advancing  as 
fast  as  I  could  desire.  On  this  subject,  Paul  Pattison,  like  ancient  Pistol, 
“  talked  bold  words  at  the  bridge,”  and  that  not  only  at  our  house,  but  in 
the  society  of  our  neighbours,  amongst  whom,  instead  of  imitating  the 
retired  and  monastic  manner  of  his  brother  deceased,  he  became  a  gay 
visitor,  and  such  a  reveller,  that  in  process  of  time  he  was  observed  to  vili¬ 
pend  the  modest  fare  which  had  at  tirst  been  esteemed  a  banquet  by  his 
hungry  appetite,  and  thereby  highly  displeased  my  wife,  who,  with  justice, 
applauds  herself  for  the  plentiful,  cleanly,  and  healthy  victuals,  wherewith 
she  maintains  her  ushers  and  boarders. 

Upon  the  whole,  I  rather  hoped  than  entertained  a  sincere  contidence  that 
all  was  going  on  well,  and  was  in  that  unpleasant  state  of  mind  which 
precedes  the  open  breach  between  two  associates  who  have  been  long  jealous 
of  each  other,  but  are  as  yet  deterred  by  a  sense  of  mutual  interest  from 
coming  to  an  open  rupture. 

The  tirst  thing  which  alarmed  me  was  a  rumour  in  the  village,  that  Paul 
Pattison  intended,  in  some  little  space,  to  undertake  a  voyage  to  the  Conti¬ 
nent —  on  account  of  his  health,  as  was  pretended,  but,  as  the  same  report 
averred,  much  more  with  the  view  of  gratifying  the  curiosity  which  his 
perusal  of  the  classics  had  impressed  upon  him,  than  for  any  other  purpose. 
1  was,  I  say,  rather  alarmed  at  this  susurrus,  and  began  to  reflect  that  the 
retirement  of  Mr.  Pattison,  unless  his  loss  could  be  supplied  in  good  time, 
was  like  to  be  a  blow  to  the  establishment ;  for,  in  truth,  this  Paul  had  a 
winning  way  with  the  boys,  especially  those  who  were  gentle-tempered ;  so 
that  I  must  confess  my  doubts  whether,  in  certain  respects,  I  myself  could 
have  fully  supplied  his  place  in  the  school,  with  all  my  authority  and  expe¬ 
rience.  My  wife,  jealous  as  became  her  station,  of  Mr.  Pattison’s  inten¬ 
tions,  advised  me  to  take  the  matter  up  immediately,  and  go  to  the  bottom 
at  once ;  and,  indeed,  I  had  always  found  that  way  answered  best  with  my 
boys. 

Mrs.  Cleishbotham  was  not  long  before  renewing  the  subject ;  for,  like 
most  of  the  race  of  Xantippe,  (though  my  help-mate  is  a  well-spoken 
woman,)  she  loves  to  thrust  in  her  oar  where  she  is  not  able  to  pull  it  to 
purpose,  You  are  a  sharp-witted  man,  Mr.  Cleishbotham,”  would  she 
observe,  “and  a  learned  man,  Mr.  Cleishbotham  —  and  the  schoolmaster  of 


INTRODUCTORY  ADDRESS. 


13 


(Jandercleuch,  Mr.  Cleishbotliani,  which  is  saying  all  in  one  word;  but 
many  a  man  almost  as  great  as  j'ourself  has  lost  tlie  saddle  by  suffering  an 
inferior  to  get  up  behind  him  ;  and  though,  with  the  world,  Mr.  Cleish- 
botham,  you  have  the  name  of  doing  every  thing,  both  in  directing  the 
school  and  in  this  new  profitable  book  line  which  you  have  taken  up,  yet  it 
begins  to  be  the  common  talk  of  Gandercleuch,  both  up  the  water  and  down 
the  water,  that  the  usher  both  writes  the  dominie’s  books,  and  teaches  the 
dominie’s  school.  Ay,  ay,  ask  maid,  wife,  or  widow,  and  she’ll  tell  ye,  the 
least  gaitling  among  them  all  comes  to  Paul  Pattison  with  his  lesson  as  natu¬ 
rally  as  they  come  to  me  for  their  four-hours,  puir  things ;  and  never  ane 
thinks  of  applying  to  you  aboot  a  kittle  turn,  or  a  crabbed  word,  or  about 
ony  thing  else,  unless  it  were  for  licet  exire,  or  the  mending  of  an  auld  pen.’^ 

Now,  this  address  assailed  mo  on  a  summer  evening,  when  I  was  whiling 
away  my  leisure  hours  with  the  end  of  a  cutty  pipe,  and  indulging  in  such 
bland  imaginations  as  the  Nicotian  weed  is  wont  to  produce,  more  especially 
in  the  case  of  studious  persons,  devoted  musis  sevenoribus.  I  was  naturally 
loth  to  leave  my  misty  sanctuary ;  and  endeavoured  to  silence  the  clamour 
of  Mrs.  Cleishbotham’s  tongue,  which  has  something  in  it  peculiarly  shrill 
and  penetrating.  “  Woman,”  said  I  with  a  tone  of  domestic  authority  be¬ 
fitting  the  occasion,  “rc.9  iuas  agas ; — mind  your  washings  and  your  wring¬ 
ings,  your  stuffings  and  your  physicking,  or  whatever  concerns  the  outward 
persons  of  the  pupils,  and  leave  the  progress  of  their  education  to  my  usher, 
Paul  Pattison,  and  myself.” 

“I  am  glad  to  see,”  added  the  accursed  woman,  (that  I  should  say  so!) 
“  that  ye  have  the  grace  to  name  him  foremost,  for  there  is  little  doubt,  that 
he  ranks  first  of  the  troop,  if  ye  wad  but  hear  what  the  neighbours  speak — 
or  whisper.” 

“What  do  they  whisper,  thou  sworn  sister  of  the  Eumenides?”  cried  I, 
— the  irritating  cestrum  of  the  woman’s  objurgation  totally  counterbalancing 
the  sedative  effects  both  of  pipe  and  pot. 

“Whisper?”  resumed  she  in  her  shrillest  note — “why,  they  whisper  loud 
enough  for  me  at  least  to  hear  them,  that  the  schoolmaster  of  Gandercleuch 
is  turned  a  doited  auld  woman,  and  spends  all  his  time  in  tippling  strong 
drink  with  the  keeper  of  the  public-house,  and  leaves  school  and  book¬ 
making,  and  a’  the  rest  o’t,  to  the  care  of  his  usher ;  and,  also,  the  wives  in 
Gandercleuch  say,  that  you  have  engaged  Paul  Pattison  to  write  a  new  book, 
which  is  to  beat  a’  the  lave  that  gaed  afore  it ;  and  to  show  what  a  sair  lift 
you  have  o’  the  job,  you  didna  sae  muckle  as  ken  the  name  o’t  —  no,  nor 
whether  it  was  to  be  about  some  Heathen  Greek,  or  the  Black  Douglas.” 

This  was  said  with  such  bitterness  that  it  penetrated  to  the  very  quick, 
and  I  hurled  the  poor  old  pipe,  like  one  of  Homer’s  spears,  not  in  the  face 
of  my  provoking  helpmate,  though  the  temptation  was  strong,  but  into  the 
river  Gander,  which,  as  is  now  well  known  to  tourists  from  the  uttermost 
parts  of  the  earth,  pursues  its  quiet  meanders  beneath  the  bank  on  which 
the  school-house  is  pleasantly  situated ;  and,  starting  np,  fixed  on  my  head 
the  cocked  hat,  (the  pride  of  Messrs.  Grieve  and  Scott’s  repository,)  and 
plunging  into  the  valley  of  the  brook,  pursued  my  way  upwards,  the  voice 
of  Mrs.  Cleishbotham  accompanying  me  in  my  retreat  with  something  like 
the  angry  scream  of  triumph  with  which  the  brood-goose  pursues  the  flight 
of  some  unmannerly  cur  or  idle  boy  who  has  intruded  upon  her  premises, 
and  fled  before  her.  Indeed,  so  great  was  the  influence  of  this  clamour  of 
scorn  and  wrath  which  hung  upon  my  rear,  that  while  it  rung  in  my  ears, 
I  was  so  moved  that  I  instinctively  tucked  the  skirts  of  my  black  coat  under 
my  arm,  as  if  I  had  been  in  actual  danger  of  being  seized  on  by  the  grasp 
of  the  pursuing  enemy.  Nor  was  it  till  I  had  almost  reached  the  well-knowi\ 
burial-place,  in  which  it  was  Peter  Pattison’s  hap  to  meet  the  far-famed 
personage  called  Old  Mortality,  that  I  made  a  belt  for  the  purpose  of  comr 
posing  my  perturbed  spirits,  and  considering  what  was  to  be  done ;  fur  as 

B 


14 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS^ 


yet  my  mind  was  agitated  by  a  chaos  of  passions,  of  which  anger  was  pre¬ 
dominant;  and  for  what  reason,  or  against  whom,  I  entertained  such  tumul¬ 
tuous  displeasure,  it  was  not  easy  for  me  to  determine. 

Nevertheless,  having  settled  my  cocked  hat  with  becoming  accuracy  on 
my  well-powdered  wig,  and  suffered  it  to  remain  uplifted  for  a  moment  to 
cool  my  flushed  brow  —  having,  moreover,  re-adjusted  and  shaken  to  rights 
the  skirts  of  my  black  coat,  I  came  into  case  to  answer  to  my  own  ques¬ 
tions,  which,  till  these  manoeuvres  had  been  sedately  accomplished,  I  might 
have  asked  myself  in  vain. 

In  the  first  place,  therefore,  to  use  the  phrase  of  Mr.  Docket,  the  writer 
(that  is,  the  attorney)  of  our  village  of  Gandercleuch,  I  became  satisfied 
that  my  anger  was  directed  against  all  and  sundry,  or,  in  law  Latin,  contre 
omnes  mortales,  and  more  particularly  against  the  neighbourhood  of  Gan¬ 
dercleuch,  for  circulating  reports  to  the  prejudice  of  my  literary  talents,  as 
well  as  my  accomplishments  as  a  pedagogue,  and  transferring  the  fame 
thereof  to  mine  own  usher.  Secondly,  against  my  spouse,  Dorothea  Cleish- 
botliam,  for  transferring  the  sad  calumnious  reports  to  my  ears  in  a  prerupt 
and  unseemly  manner,  and  without  due  respect  either  to  the  language  which 
she  made  use  of,  or  the  person  to  whom  she  spoke, — treating  affairs  in  which 
I  was  so  intimately  concerned  as  if  they  were  proper  subjects  for  jest  among 
gossips  at  a  christening,  where  the  womankind  claim  the  privilege  of  wor¬ 
shipping  the  Bona  Dea  according  to  their  secret  female  rites. 

Thirdly,  I  became  clear  that  I  was  entitled  to  respond  to  any  whom  it 
concerned  to  enquire,  that  my  wrath  was  kindled  against  Paul  Pattison,  my 
usher,  for  giving  occasion  both  for  the  neighbours  of  Gandercleuch  enter¬ 
taining  such  opinions,  and  for  Mrs.  Cleishbotham  disrespectfully  urging 
them  to  my  face,  since  neither  circumstance  could  have  existed,  without  he 
had  put  forth  sinful  misrepresentations  of  transactions,  private  and  confi¬ 
dential,  and  of  which  I  had  myself  entirely  refrained  from  dropping  any 
the  least  hint  to  any  third  person. 

This  arrangement  of  my  ideas  having  contributed  to  soothe  the  stormy 
atmosphere  of  which  they  had  been  the  offspring,  gave  reason  a  time  to 
predominate,  and  to  ask  me,  with  her  calm  but  clear  voice,  whether,  under 
all  the  circumstances,  I  did  well  to  nourish  so  indiscriminate  an  indigna¬ 
tion  ?  In  fine,  on  closer  examination,  the  various  splenetic  thoughts  I  had 
been  indulging  against  other  parties,  began  to  be  merged  in  that  resentment 
against  my  perfidious  usher,  which,  like  the  serpent  of  Moses,  swallowed 
up  all  subordinate  objects  of  displeasure.  To  put  myself  at  open  feud  with 
the  whole  of  my  neighbours,  unless  I  had  been  certain  of  some  efiectual 
mode  of  avenging  myself  upon  them,  would  have  been  an  undertaking  too 
weighty  for  my  means,  and  not  unlikely,  if  rashly  grappled  withal,  to  end 
in  my  ruin.  To  make  a  public  quarrel  with  my  wife,  on  such  an  account 
as  her  opinion  of  my  literary  accomplishments,  would  sound  ridiculous; 
and,  besides,  Mrs.  C.  was  sure  to  have  all  the  women  on  her  side,  who  would 
represent  her  as  a  wife  persecuted  by  her  husband  for  cfiering  him  good 
advice,  and  urging  it  upon  him  with  only  too  enthusiastic  sincerity. 

There  remained  Paul  Pattison,  undoubtedly,  the  most  natural  and  proper 
object  of  my  indignation,  since  I  might  be  said  to  have  him  in  my  own 
power,  and  might  punish  him  by  dismissal,  at  my  pleasure.  Yet  even  vin¬ 
dictive  proceedings  against  the  said  Paul,  however  easy  to  be  enforced, 
might  be  productive  of  serious  consequences  to  my  own  purse ;  and  I  began 
to  reflect,  with  anxiety,  that  in  this  world  it  is  not  often  that  the  gratifica¬ 
tion  of  our  angry  passions  lies  in  the  same  road  with  the  advancement  of 
our  interest,  and  that  the  wise  man,  the  vere  sa])iens,  seldom  hesitates  which 
of  these  two  he  ought  to  prefer. 

I  recollected  also  that  I  was  quite  uncertain  how  far  the  present  usher 
had  really  been  guilty  of  the  foul  acts  of  assumption  charged  against  him. 

In  a  word,  I  began  to  perceive  that  it  would  be  no  light  matter,  at  once, 


INTRODUCTORY  ADDRESS. 


15 


and  without  raaturer  perpending  of  sundry  collateral  punciiuncula,  to  break 
up  a  joint-stock  adventure,  or  society,  as  civilians  term  it,  which,  if  pro¬ 
fitable  to  him,  had  at  least  promised  to  be  no  less  so  to  me,  established  in 
years  and  learning  and  reputation  so  much  his  superior.  Moved  by  which, 
and  other  the  like  considerations,  I  resolved  to  proceed  with  becoming  cau¬ 
tion  on  the  occasion,  and  not,  by  stating  my  causes  of  complaint  too  hastily 
in  the  outset,  exasperate  into  a  positive  breach  what  might  only  prove  some 
small  misunderstanding,  easily  explained  or  apologized  for,  and  which,  like 
a  leak  in  a  new  vessel,  being  once  discovered  and  carefully  stopped,  renders 
the  vessel  but  more  sea-worthy  than  it  was  before. 

About  the  time  that  I  had  adopted  this  healing  resolution,  I  reached  the 
spot  where  the  almost  perpendicular  face  of  a  steep  hill  seems  to  terminate 
the  valley,  or  at  least  divides  it  into  two  dells,  each  serving  as  a  cradle  to 
its  own  mountain-stream,  the  Gruff-quack,  namely,  and  the  shallower,  but 
more  noisy,  Gusedub,  on  the  left  hand,  which,  at  their  union,  form  the 
Gander,  properly  so  called.  Each  of  these  little  valleys  has  a  walk  winding 
up  to  its  recesses,  rendered  more  easy  by  the  labours  of  the  poor  during  the 
late  hard  season,  and  one  of  which  bears  the  name  of  Pattison's  path,  while 
the  other  had  been  kindly  consecrated  to  my  own  memory,  by  the  title  of 
the  Dominie’s  Daidling-bit.  Here  I  made  certain  to  meet  my  associate, 
Paul  Pattison,  for  by  one  or  other  of  these  roads  he  was  wont  to  return  to 
my  house  of  an  evening,  after  his  lengthened  rambles. 

Nor  was  it  long  before  I  espied  him  descending  the  Gusedub  by  that  tor¬ 
tuous  path,  marking  so  strongly  the  character  of  a  Scottish  glen.  lie  was 
easily  distinguished,  indeed,  at  some  distance,  by  his  jaunty  swagger,  in 
which  he  presented  to  you  the  flat  of  his  leg,  like  the  manly  knave  of  clubs, 
apparently  with  the  most  perfect  contentment,  not  only  with  his  leg  and 
boot,  but  with  every  part  of  his  outward  man,  and  the  whole  fashion  of  his 
garments,  and,  one  would  almost  have  thought,  the  contents  of  his  pockets. 

In  this,  his  wonted  guise,  he  approached  me,  where  I  was  seated  near  the 
meeting  of  the  waters,  and  I  could  not  but  discern,  that  his  first  impulse 
was  to  pass  me  without  any  prolonged  or  formal  greeting.  But  as  that 
would  not  have  been  decent,  considering  the  terms  on  which  we  stood,  he 
seemed  to  adopt,  on  reflection,  a  course  directly  opposite ;  bustled  up  to  me 
with  an  air  of  alacrity,  and,  I  may^  add,  impudence ;  and  hastened  at  once 
into  the  middle  of  the  important  affairs  which  it  had  been  my  purpose  to 
bring  under  discussion  in  a  manner  more  becoming  their  gravity.  “  I  am 
glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Cleishbotham,’'  said  he,  with  an  inimitable  mixture  of 
confusion  and  effrontery ;  “  the  most  wonderful  news  which  has  been  heard 
in  the  literary  world  in  my  time  —  all  Gandercleuch  rings  with  if — they 
positively  speak  of  nothing  else,  from  Miss  Buskbody’s  youngest  apprentice 
to  the  minister  himself,  and  ask  each  other  in  amazement,  whether  the 
tidings  are  true  or  false  —  to  be  sure  they  are  of  an  astounding  complexion, 
especially  to  you  and  me.’^ 

“  Mr.  Pattison,’’  said  I,  “  1  am  quite  at  a  loss  to  guess  at  jmur  meaning. 
Davus  sum,  non  Oedipus  —  I  am  Jedediah  Cleishbotham,  Schoolmaster  of 
the  parish  of  Gandercleuch  ;  no  conjuror,  and  neither  reader  of  riddles,  nor 
expounder  of  enigmata.” 

“Well,”  replied  Paul  Pattison,  “Mr.  Jedediah  Cleishbotham,  School¬ 
master  of  the  parish  of  Gandercleuch,  and  so  forth,  all  I  have  to  inform 
you  is,  that  our  hopeful  scheme  is  entirely  blown  up.  The  tales,  on 
publishing  which  we  reckoned  with  so  much  confidence,  have  already  been 
printed ;  they  are  abroad,  over  all  America,  and  the  British  papers  are 
clamorous.” 

I  received  this  news  with  the  same  equanimity  with  which  I  should  have 
accepted  a  blow  addressed  to  my  stomach  by  a  modern  gladiator,  with  the 
full  energy  of  his  fist.  “  If  this  be  correct  information,  Mr.  Pattison,”  said 
1,  “  I  must  of  necessity  suspect  you  to  be  the  person  who  have  supplied  the 
fin-eign  press  with  the  copy  which  the  printers  have  thus  made  an  unscru- 


16 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


pulous  iiSG  of,  without  respect  to  the  rights  of  the  undeniahle  proprietors 
of  the  manuscripts ;  and  I  request  to  know  whether  this  American  produc¬ 
tion  embraces  the  alterations  which  you  as  well  as  I  judged  necessary,  be¬ 
fore  the  work  could  be  fitted  to  meet  the  public  eye  ?''  To  this  my  gentle¬ 
man  saw  it  necessary  to  make  a  direct  answer,  for  my  manner  was 
impressive,  and  my  tone  decisive.  His  native  audacity  enabled  him,  how¬ 
ever,  to  keep  his  ground,  and  he  answered  with  firmness  — 

“  Mr.  Cleishbotham,  in  the  first  place,  these  manuscripts,  over  which  you 
claim  a  very  doubtful  right,  were  never  given  to  any  one  by  me,  and  must 
have  been  sent  to  America  either  by  yourself,  or  by  some  one  of  the  various 
gentlemen  to  whom,  I  am  well  aware,  you  have  afforded  opportunities  of 
perusing  my  brother’s  MS.  remains.” 

“  Mr.  Pattison,”  I  replied,  “  I  beg  to  remind  you  that  it  never  could  bo 
my  intention,  either  by  my  own  hands,  or  through  those  of  another,  to  remit 
these  manuscripts  to  the  press,  until,  by  the  alterations  which  I  meditated, 
and  which  you  yourself  engaged  to  make,  they  were  rendered  fit  for  public 
perusal.” 

Mr.  Pattison  answered  me  with  much  heat :  —  ”  Sir,  I  would  have  you  to 
know,  that  if  I  accepted  your  paltry  offer,  it  was  with  less  regard  to  its 
amount,  than  to  the  honour  and  literary  fame  of  my  late  brother.  I  fore¬ 
saw  that  if  I  declined  it,  you  would  not  hesitate  to  throw  the  task  into  inca¬ 
pable  hands,  or,  perhaps,  have  taken  it  upon  yourself,  the  most  unfit  of  all 
men  to  tamper  with  the  works  of  departed  genius,  and  that,  God  willing,  I 
was  determined  to  prevent — but  the  justice  of  Heaven  has  taken  the  matter 
into  its  own  hands.  Peter  Pattison’s  last  labours  shall  now  go  down  to  pos¬ 
terity  unscathed  by  the  scalping-knife  of  alteration,  in  the  hands  of  a  false 
friend  —  shame  on  the  thought  that  the  unnatural  weapon  could  ever  be 
wielded  by  the  hand  of  a  brother !” 

I  heard  this  speech  not  without  a  species  of  vertigo  or  dizziness  in  my 
head,  which  would  probably  have  struck  me  lifeless  at  his  feet,  had  not  a 
thought  like  that  of  the  old  ballad  — 

“Earl  Percy  sees  my  fall,” 

called  to  my  recollection,  that  I  should  only  afford  an  additional  triumph 
by  giving  way  to  my  feelings  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Paul  Pattison,  who,  I 
could  not  doubt,  must  be  more  or  less  directly  at  the  bottom  of  the  Trans¬ 
atlantic  publication,  and  had  in  one  way  or  another  found  his  own  interest 
in  that  nefarious  transaction. 

To  get  quit  of  his  odious  presence  I  bid  him  an  unceremonious  good-night, 
and  marched  down  the  glen  with  the  air  not  of  one  who  has  parted  with  a 
friend,'but  who  rather  has  shaken  off  an  intrusive  companion.  On  the  road 
I  pondered  the  whole  matter  over  with  an  anxiety  which  did  not  in  the 
smallest  degree  tend  to  relieve  me.  Had  I  felt  adequate  to  the  exertion,  I 
might,  of  course,  have  supplanted  this  spurious  edition  (of  which  the  lite¬ 
rary  gazettes  are  already  doling  out  copious  specimens)  by  introducing  into 
a  copy,  to  be  instantly  published  at  Edinburgh,  adequate  correction  of  the 
various  inconsistencies  and  imperfections  which  have  already  been  alluded 
to.  I  remember  the  easy  victory  of  the  real  second  part  of  these  “  Tales  of 
my  Landlord”  over  the  performance  sent  forth  by  an  interloper  under  the 
same  title  ;  and  why  should  not  the  same  triumph  be  repeated  now?  There 
would,  in  short,  have  been  a  pride  of  talent  in  this  manner  of  avenging 
myself,  which  would  have  been  justifiable  in  the  case  of  an  injured  man; 
but  the  state  of  my  health  has  for  some  time  been  such  as  to  render  any 
attempt  of  this  nature  in  every  way  imprudent. 

Under  such  circumstances,  the  last  “Remains”  of  Peter  Pattison  must 
even  be  accepted,  as  they  were  left  in  his  desk;  and  I  humbly  retire  in  the 
hope  that,  such  as  they  are,  they  may  receive  the  indulgence  of  those  who 
have  ever  been  but  too  merciful  to  the  productions  of  his  pen,  and  in  all 
respects  to  the  courteous  reader’s  obliged  servant,  J.  C. 

Gaxdercleuch,  15^^  Oct,  1831. 


COUNT.  EOBEET  OF  PAEIS. 


(Clin|ittr  t|iB  /irst. 

Leontius. - That  power  that  kindly  spreads 

The  clouds,  a  signal  of  impending  showers, 

To  warn  the  wandering  linnet  to  the  shade, 

Beheld  without  concern  expiring  Greece, 

And  not  one  prodigy  foretold  our  fate. 

Demetrius.  A  thousand  horrid  prodigies  foretold  it: 

A  feeble  government,  eluded  laws, 

A  factious  populace,  luxurious  nobles. 

And  all  the  maladies  of  sinking  states. 

When  public  villany,  too  strong  for  justice. 

Shows  his  bold  front,  the  harbinger  of  ruin, 

Can  brave  Leontius  call  for  airy  wonders, 

Which  cheats  interpret,  and  which  fools  regard  T 

Irene,  Act  I. 

The  close  observers  of  vegetable  nature  have  remarked,  that  vrhen  a  new 
graft  is  taken  from  an  aged  tree,  it  possesses  indeed  in  exterior  form  the 
appearance  of -a  youthful  shoot,  but  has  in  fact  attained  to  the  same  state 
of  maturity,  or  even  decay,  which  has  been  reached  by  the  parent  stem. 
Hence,  it  is  said,  arises  the  general  decline  and  death  that  about  the  same 
season  is  often  observed  to  spread  itself  through  individual  trees  of  some 
particular  species,  all  of  which,  deriving  their  vital  powers  from  the  parent 
stock,  are  therefore  incapable  of  protracting  their  existence  longer  than  it 
does. 

In  the  same  manner,  efforts  have  been  made  by  the  mighty  of  the  earth 
to  transplant  large  cities,  states,  and  communities,  by  one  great  and  sudden 
exertion,  expecting  to  secure  to  the  new  capital  the  wealth,  the  dignity,  the 
magnificent  decorations  and  unlimited  extent  of  the  ancient  city,  which  they 
desire  to  renovate  ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  they  hope  to  begin  a  new  suc¬ 
cession  of  ages  from  the  date  of  the  new  structure,  to  last,  they  imagine,  as 
long,  and  with  as  much  fame,  as  its  predecessor,  which  the  founder  hopes 
his  new  metropolis  may  replace  in  all  its  youthful  glories.  But  nature  has 
her  laws,  which  seem  to  apply  to  the  social,  as  welhas  the  vegetable  system. 
It  appears  to  be  a  general  rule,  that  what  is  to  last  long  should  be  slowly 
matured  and  gradually  improved,  while  every  sudden  effort,  however 
gigantic,  to  bring  about  the  speedy  execution  of  a  plan  calculated  to  endure 
for  ages,  is  doomed  to  exhibit  symptoms  of  premature  decay  from  its  very 
commencement.  -Thus,  in  a  beautiful  Oriental  tale,  a  dervise  explains  to 
the  sultan  how  he  had  reared  the  magnificent  trees  among  which^  they 
walked,  by  nursing  their  shoots  from  the  seed  ;  and  the  prince’s  pride  is 
damped  when  he  reflects,  that  those  plantations,  so  simply  raised,  were 
gathering  new  vigour  from  each  returning  sun,  while  his  own  exhausted 
VoL.  XII.  — 2^  b2  (17) 


18 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


cedars,  ■which  had  been  transplanted  by  one  violent  effort,  were  drooping 
their  majestic  heads  in  the  Valley  of  Orez.'^ 

It  has  been  allowed,  I  believe,  by  all  men  of  taste,  many  of  whom  have 
been  late  visitants  of  Constantinople,  that  if  it  were  possible  to  survey  the 
whole  globe  with  a  view  to  fixing  a  seat  of  universal  empire,  all  who  are 
capable  of  making  such  a  choice,  would  give  their  preference  to  the  city  of 
Constantine,  as  including  the  great  recommendations  of  beauty,  wealth, 
security,  and  eminence.  Yet  with  all  these  advantages  of  situation  and 
climate,  and  with  all  the  architectural  splendour  of  its  churches  and  halls, 
its  quarries  of  marble,  and  its  treasure-houses  of  gold,  the  imperial  founder 
must  himself  have  learned,  that  although  he  could  employ  all  these  rich 
materials  in  obedience  to  his  own  wish,  it  was  the  mind  of  man  itself,  those 
intellectual  faculties  refined  by  the  ancients  to  the  highest  degree,  which 
had  produced  the  specimens  of  talent  at  which  men  paused  and  wondered, 
whether  as  subjects  of  art  or  of  moral  labour.  The  power  of  the  Emperor 
might  indeed  strip  other  cities  of  their  statues  and  their  shrines,  in  order  to 
decorate  that  which  he  had  fixed  upon  as  his  new  capital ;  but  the  men  who 
had  performed  great  actions,  and  those,  almost  equally  esteemed,  by  whom 
such  deeds  were  celebrated,  in  poetry,  in  painting,  and  in  music,  had  ceased 
to  exist.  The  nation,  though  still  the  most  civilised  in  the  world,  had  passed 
beyond  that  period  of  society,  when  the  desire  of  fair  fame  is  of  itself  tho 
sole  or  chief  motive  for  the  labour  of  the  historian  or  the  poet,  the  painter 
or  the  statuary.  The  slavish  and  despotic  constitution  introduced  into  the 
empire,  had  long  since  entirely  destroyed  that  public  spirit  wdiich  animated 
the  free  history  of  Rome,  leaving  nothing  but  feeble  recollections,  which 
produced  no  emulation. 

To  speak  as  of  an  animated  substance,  if  Constantine  could  have  regene¬ 
rated  his  new  metropolis,  by  transfusing  into  it  the  vital  and  vivifying  prin¬ 
ciples  of  old  Rome, — that  brilliant  spark  no  longer  remained  for  Constanti¬ 
nople  to  borrow,  or  for  Rome  to  lend. 

In  one  most  important  circumstance,  the  state  of  the  capital  of  Constantine 
had  been  totally  changed,  and  unspeakably  to  its  advantage.  The  world 
was  now^  Christian,  and,  with  the  Pagan  code,  had  got  rid  of  its  load  of  dis¬ 
graceful  superstition.  Nor  is  there  the  least  doubt,  that  the  better  faith 
produced  its  natural  and  desirable  fruits  in  society,  in  gradually  ameliorating 
the  hearts,  and  taming  the  passions,  of  the  people.  But  while  many  of  the 
converts  were  turning  meekly  towards  their  new  creed,  some,  in  the  arrogance 
of  their  understanding,  were  limiting  the  Scriptures  by  their  own  devices, 
and  others  failed  not  to  make  religious  character  or  spiritual  rank  the  means 
of  rising  to  temporal  power.  Thus  it  happened  at  this  critical  period,  that 
the  effects  of  this  great  change  in  the  religion  of  the  country,  although  pro¬ 
ducing  an  immediate  harvest,  as  well  as  sowing  much  good  seed  which  w^as 
to  grow  hereafter,  did  not,  in  the  fourth  century,  flourish  so  as  to  shed  at 
once  that  predominating  influence  which  its  principles  might  have  taught 
men  to  expect. 

Even  the  borrowed  splendour,  in  which  Constantine  decked  his  city,  bore 
in  it  something  which  seemed  to  mark  premature  decay.  The  imperial 
founder,  in  seizing  upon  the  ancient  statues,  pictures,  obelisks,  and  works 
of  art,  acknowledged  his  own  incapacity  to  supply  their  place  with  the  pro¬ 
ductions  of  later  genius  ;  and  when  the  world,  and  particularly  Rome,  was 
plundered  to  adorn  Constantinople,  the  Emperor,  under  whom  the  work  was 
carried  on,  might  be  compared  to  a  prodigal  youth,  w'ho  strips  an  aged  parent 
of  her  youthful  ornaments,  in  order  to  decorate  a  flaunting  paramour,  on 
whose  brow  all  must  consider  them  as  misplaced. 

Constantinople,  therefore,  when  in  324  it  first  arose  in  imperial  majesty 
out  of  the  humble  Byzantium,  showed,  even  in  its  birth,  and  amid  its  adven¬ 
titious  splendour,  as  we  have  already  said,  some  intimations  of  that  speedy 


•  Tale  of  Mirglip  the^ersian,  in  the  Tales  of  the  Genii. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


19 


decay  to  which  the  whole  civilised  world,  then  limited  within  the  Roman 
empire,  was  internally  and  imperceptibly  tending.  Nor  was  it  many  ages 
ere  these  prognostications  of  declension  were  fully  verified. 

In  the  year  1080,  Alexius  Comnenus*  ascended  the  throne  of  the  Empire; 
that  is,  he  was  declared  sovereign  of  Constantinople,  its  precincts  and  de¬ 
pendencies  ;  nor,  if  he  was  disposed  to  lead  a  life  of  relaxation,  would  the 
savage  incursions  of  the  Scythians  or  the  Hungarians  frequently  disturb  the 
imperial  slumbers,  if  limited  to  his  own  capital.  It  may  be  supposed  that 
this  safety  did  not  extend  much  farther;  for  it  is  said  that  the  Empress 
Pulcheria  had  built  a  church  to  the  Virgin  Mary,  as  remote  as  possible  from 
the  gate  of  the  city,  to  save  her  devotions  from  the  risk  of  being  interrupted 
by  the  hostile  yell  of  the  barbarians,  and  the  reigning  Emperor  had  con¬ 
structed  a  palace  near  the  same  spot,  and  for  the  same  reason. 

Alexius  Comnenus  was  in  the  condition  of  a  monarch  who  rather  derives 
consequence  from  the  wealth  and  importance  of  his  predecessors,  and  the 
great  extent  of  their  original  dominions,  than  from  what  remnants  of  fortune 
had  descended  to  the  present  generation.  This  Emperor,  except  nominally, 
no  more  ruled  over  his  dismembered  provinces,  than  a  half-dead  horse  can 
exercise  power  over  those  limbs,  on  which  the  hooded  crow  and  the  vulture 
have  already  begun  to  settle  and  select  their  prey. 

In  different  parts  of  his  territory,  different  enemies  arose,  who  waged 
successful  or  dubious  war  against  the  Emperor;  and,  of  the  numerous 
nations  with  whom  he  was  engaged  in  hostilities,  whether  the  Franks  from 
the  west,  the  Turks  advancing  from  the  east,  the  Cumans  and  Scythians 
pouring  their  barbarous  numbers  and  unceasing  storm  of  arrows  from  the 
north,  and  the  Saracens,  or  the  tribes  into  which  they  were  divided,  press¬ 
ing  from  the  south,  there  was  not  one  for  whom  the  Grecian  empire  did  not 
spread  a  tempting  repast.  Each  of  these  various  enemies  had  their  own 
particular  habits  of  war,  and  a  way  of  manoeuvring  in  battle  peculiar  to 
themselves.  But  the  Roman,  as  the  unfortunate  subject  of  the  Greek 
empire  was  still  called,  was  by  fiir  the  weakest,  the  most  ignorant,  and 
most  timid,  who  could  be  dragged  into  the  field ;  and  the  Emperor  was 
happy  in  his  own  good  luck,  when  he  found  it  possible  to  conduct  a  defen¬ 
sive  war  on  a  counterbalancing  principle,  making  use  of  the  Scythian  to 
repel  the  Turk,  or  of  both  these  savage  people  to  drive  back  the  fiery-footed 
Frank,  whom  Peter  the  Hermit  had,  in  the  time  of  Alexius,  waked  to  double 
fury,  by  the  powerful  influence  of  the  crusades. 

If,  therefore,  Alexius  Comnenus  was,  during  his  anxious  seat  upon  the 
throne  of  the  East,  reduced  to  use  a  base  and  truckling  course  of  policy — 
if  he  was  sometimes  reluctant  to  fight  when  he  had  a  conscious  doubt  of  the 
valour  of  his  troops — if  he  commonly  employed  cunning  and  dissimulation 
instead  of  wisdom,  and  perfidy  instead  of  courage — his  expedients  were  the 
disgrace  of  the  age,  rather  than  his  own. 

Again,  the  Emperor  Alexius  may  be  blamed  for  affecting  a  degree  of 
state  which  was  closely  allied  to  imbecility.  He  was  proud  of  assuming  in 
his  own  person,  and  of  bestowing  upon  others,  the  painted  show  of  various 
orders  of  nobility,  even  now,  when  the  rank  within  the  prince’s  gift  was 
become  an  additional  reason  for  the  free  barbarian  despising  the  imperial 
noble.  That  the  Greek  court  was  encumbered  with  unmeaning  ceremonies, 
in  order  to  make  amends  for  the  want  of  that  veneration  which  ought  to 
have  been  called  forth  by  real  worth,  and  the  presence  of  actual  power,  was 
not  the  particular  fault  of  that  prince,  but  belonged  to  the  system  of  the 
government  of  Constantinople  for  ages.  Indeed,  in  its  trumpery  etiquette, 
which  provided  rules  for  the  most  trivial  points  of  a  man’s  behaviour  during 
the  day,  the  Greek  empire  resembled  no  existing  power  in  its  minute  follies, 
except  that  of  Pekin  ;  both,  doubtless,  being  influenced  by  the  same  vain 


•  See  Gibbon,  Chap,  xlviii.  for  tlie  origin  and  early  history  of  tlie  house  of  the  Ckiinueni, 


20 


WAVEKLEY  NOVELS. 


wish,  to  add  seriousness  and  an  appearance  of  importance  to  objects,  which, 
from  their  trivial  nature,  could  admit  no  such  distinction. 

Yet  thus  far  we  must  justify  Alexius,  that  humble  as  were  the  expedients 
he  had  recourse  to,  they  were  more  useful  to  his  empire  than  the  measures 
of  a  more  proud  and  high-spirited  prince  might  have  proved  in  the  same 
circumstances.  He  was  no  champion  to  break  a  lance  against  the  breast¬ 
plate  of  his  Frankish  rival,  the  famous  Bohemond  of  Antioch,*  but  there 
were  many  occasions  on  which  he  hazarded  his  life  freely ;  and,  so  far  as 
we  can  see,  from  a  minute  perusal  of  his  achievements,  the  Emperor  of 
Greece  was  never  so  dangerous  “  under  shield,^^  as  when  any  foeman 
desired  to  stop  him  while  retreating  from  a  conflict  in  which  he  had  been 
worsted. 

But,  besides  that  he  did  not  hesitate,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  time, 
at  least  occasionally,  to  commit  his  person  to  the  perils  of  close  combat, 
Alexius  also  possessed  such  knowledge  of  a  generaFs  profession,  as  is 
required  in  our  modern  days.  He  knew  how  to  occupy  military  positions 
to  the  best  advantage,  and  often  covered  defeats,  or  improved  dubious  con¬ 
flicts,  in  a  manner  highly  to  the  disappointment  of  those  who- deemed  that 
the  work  of  war  was  done  only  on  the  field  of  battle. 

If  Alexius  Comnenus  thus  understood  the  evolutions  of  war,  he  was  still 
better  skilled  in  those  of  politics,  where,  soaring  far  above  the  express  pur¬ 
pose  of  his  immediate  negotiation,  the  Emperor  was  sure  to  gain  some  im¬ 
portant  and  permanent  advantage ;  though  very  often  he  was  ultimately 
defeated  by  the  unblushing  fickleness,  or  avowed  treachery  of  the  barba¬ 
rians,  as  the  Greeks  generally  termed  all  other  nations,  and  particularly 
those  tribes,  (they  can  hardly  be  termed  states,)  by  which  their  own  empire 
was  surrounded. 

We  may  conclude  our  brief  character  of  Comnenus,  by  saying,  that,  had 
he  not  been  called  on  to  fill  the  station  of  a  monarch  who  was  under  the 
necessity  of  making  himself  dreaded,  as  one  who  was  exposed  to  all  manner 
of  conspiracies,  both  in  and  out  of  his  own  family,  he  might,  in  all  proba¬ 
bility,  have  been  regarded  as  an  honest  and  humane  prince.  Certainly  he 
showed  himself  a  good-natured  man,  and  dealt  less  in  cutting  oflf  heads  and 
extinguishing  eyes,  than  had  been  the  practice  of  his  predecessors,  who 
generally  took  this  method  of  shortening  the  ambitious  views  of  competitors. 

It  remains  to  be  mentioned,  that  Alexius  had  his  full  share  of  the  super¬ 
stition  of  the  age,  which  he  covered  with  a  species  of  hypocrisy.  It  is  even 
said,  that  his  wife,  Irene,  who  of  course  was  best  acquainted  with  the  real 
character  of  the  Emperor,  taxed  her  dying  husband  with  practising,  in  his 
last  moments,  the  dissimulation  which  had  been  his  companion  during  life.f 
He  took  also  a  deep  interest  in  all  matters  respecting  the  Church,  where 
heresy,  which  the  Emperor  held,  or  affected  to  hold,  in  great  horror,  ap¬ 
peared  to  him  to  lurk.  Nor  do  we  discover  in  his  treatment  of  the  Mani- 
chaeans,  or  Paulicians,  that  pity  for  their  speculative  errors,  which  modern 
times  might  think  had  been  well  purchased  by  the  extent  of  the  temporal 
services  of  these  unfortunate  sectaries.  Alexius  knew  no  indulgence  for 
those  who  misinterpreted  the  mysteries  of  the  Church,  or  of  its  doctrines ; 
and  the  duty  of  defending  religion  against  schismatics  was,  in  his  opinion, 
as  peremptorily  demanded  from  him,  as  that  of  protecting  the  empire 
against  the  numberless  tribes  of  barbarians  who  were  encroaching  on  its 
boundaries  on  every  side. 

Such  a  mixture  of  sense  and  weakness,  of  meanness  and  dignity,  of  pru¬ 
dent  discretion  and  poverty  of  spirit,  which  last,  in  the  European  mode  of 
viewing  things,  approached  to  cowardice,  formed  the  leading  traits  of  the 

*  Bohemond,  son  of  Robert  Guiscard,  the  Norman  conqueror  of  Apulia,  Calabria,  and  Sicily,  was,  at  the 
time  when  the  first  crusade  bewail.  Count  of  Tareutum.  Though  far  advanced  in  life,  he  eagerly  joined  the 
expedition  of  the  Latins,  and  became  Prince  of  Antioch.  For  details  of  his  adventures,  death,  and  extraor¬ 
dinary  character,  see  Gibbon,  chap,  lix.,  and  Mills’  History  of  the  Crusades,  vol.  i. 

t  See  Gibbon,  chap.  Ivi. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


21 


character  of  Alexius  Comnenus,  at  a  period  when  the  fate  of  Greece,  and 
all  that  was  left  in  that  country  of  art  and  civilization,  was  trembling  in 
the  balance,  and  likely  to  be  saved  or  lost,  according  to  the  abilities  of  the 
Emperor  for  playing  the  very  difficult  game  which  was  put  into  his  hands. 

These  few  leading  circumstances  will  recall,  to  any  one  who  is  tolerably 
well  read  in  history,  the  peculiarities  of  the  period  at  which  we  have  found 
a  resting-place  for  the  foundation  of  our  story. 


Cjinpin  tliB  Ittnni. 

Othus. - This  superb  successor 

Of  the  earth’s  mistress,  as  thou  vainly  speakest, 

Stands  midst  these  ages  as,  on  the  wide  ocean. 

The  last  spared  fragment  of  a  spacious  land. 

That  in  some  grand  and  awful  ministration 
Of  mighty  nature  has  engulfed  been. 

Doth  lift  aloft,  its  dark  and  rocky  cliffs 
O’er  the  wild  waste  around,  and  sadly  frowns 
In  lonely  majesty. 

Constantine  Paleologus,  Scene  1. 

Our  scene  in  the  capital  of  the  Eastern  Empire  opens  at  what  is  termed 
the  Golden  Gate  of  Constantinople ;  and  it  may  be  said  in  passing,  that  this 
splendid  epithet  is  not  so  lightly  bestowed  as  may  be  expected  from  the 
inflated  language  of  the  Greeks,  which  throws  such  an  appearance  of  exag¬ 
geration  about  them,  their  buildings,  and  monuments. 

The  massive,  and  seemingly  impregnable  walls  with  which  Constantine 
surrounded  the  city,  were  greatly  improved  and  added  to  by  Theodosius, 
called  the  Great.  A  triumphal  arch,  decorated  with  the  architecture  of  a 
better,  though  already  a  degenerate  age,  and  serving,  at  the  same  time,  as 
a  useful  entrance,  introduced  the  stranger  into  the  city.  On  the  top,  a 
statue  of  bronze  represented  Victory,  the  goddess  who  had  inclined  the 
scales  of  battle  in  favour  of  Theodosius ;  and,  as  the  artist  determined  to 
be  wealthy  if  he  could  not  be  tasteful,  the  gilded  ornaments  with  which  the 
inscriptions  were  set  off,  readily  led  to  the  popular  name  of  the  gate. 
Figures  carved  in  a  distant  and  happier  period  of  the  art,  glanced  from  the 
walls,  without  assorting  happily  with  the  taste  in  which  these  were  built. 
The  more  modern  ornaments  of  the  Golden  Gate  bore,  at  the  period  of  our 
story,  an  aspect  very  different  from  those  indicating  the  “  conquest  brought 
back  to  the  city,'^  and  the  “eternal  peace”  which  the  flattering  inscriptions 
recorded  as  having  been  extorted  by  the  sword  of  Theodosius.  Four  or 
five  military  engines,  for  throwing  darts  of  the  largest  size,  were  placed 
upon  the  summit  of  the  arch ;  and  what  had  been  originally  designed  as  a 
specimen  of  architectural  embellishment,  was  now  applied  to  the  purposes 
of  defence. 

It  was  the  hour  of  evening,  and  the  cool  and  refreshing  breeze  from  the 
sea  inclined  each  passenger,  whose  business  was  not  of  a  very  urgent 
description,  to  loiter  on  his  way,  and  cast  a  glance  at  the  romantic  gateway, 
and  the  various  interesting  objects  of  nature  and  art,  which  the  city  of  Con¬ 
stantinople  presented,  as  well  to  the  inhabitants  as  to  strangers.* 


•  The  impression  wliich  the  imperial  city  was  calculated  to  make  on  such  visitors  as  the  Crusaders  of  the 
West,  is  given  by  the  ancient  French  chronicler  Villehardouin,  who  was  present  at  the  capture  of  A.  D.  1203. 
“  When  we  had  come.”  he  says,  “  within  three  leagues,  to  a  certain  Abbey, then  we  could  plainly  survey  Con¬ 
stantinople.  There  the  ships  and  the  galleys  came  to  anchor;  and  much  did  they  who  had  never  been  in 
that  quarter  before,  gaze  upon  the  city.  That  such  a  city  could  be  in  the  world  they  had  never  conceived, 
and  they  were  never  weary  of  staring  at  the  high  walls  and  towers  with  which  it  was  entirely  eiicompas.sed, 
the  rich  palaces  and  lofty  churches,  of  which  there  were  so  many  that  no  one  could  have  believed  it,  if  he 


00 


WAVER  LET  NOVELS. 


One  individual,  however,  seemed  to  indulge  more  wonder  and  curiosity 
than  could  have  been  expected  from  a  native  of  the  city,  and  looked  upon 
the  rarities  around  with  a  quick  and  startled  eye,  that  marked  an  imagina¬ 
tion  awakened  by  sights  that  were  new  and  strange.  The  appearance  of 
this  person  bespoke  a  foreigner  of  military  habits,  who  seemed,  from  his 
complexion,  to  have  his  birthplace  far  from  the  Grecian  metropolis,  what¬ 
ever  chance  had  at  present  brought  him  to  the  Golden  Gate,  or  whatever 
place  he  filled  in  the  Emperor’s  service. 

This  young  man  was  about  two-and-twenty  years  old,  remarkably  finely- 
formed  and  athletic — qualities  well  understood  by  the  citizens  of  Constanti¬ 
nople,  whose  habits  of  frequenting  the  public  games  had  taught  them  at 
least  an  acquaintance  with  the  human  person,  and  where,  in  the  select  of 
their  own  countrymen,  they  saw  the  handsomest  specimens  of  the  human 
race. 

These  were,  however,  not  generally  so  tall  as  the  stranger  at  the  Golden 
Gate,  while  his  piercing  blue  eyes,  and  the  fair  hair  which  descended  from 
under  a  light  helmet  gaily  ornamented  with  silver,  bearing  on  its  summit  a 
crest  resembling  a  dragon  in  the  act  of  expanding  his  terrible  jaws,  inti¬ 
mated  a  northern  descent,  to  which  the  extreme  purity  of  his  complexion 
also  bore  witness.  His  beauty,  however,  though  he  was  eminently  distin¬ 
guished  both  in  features  and  in  person,  was  not  liable  to  the  charge  of 
elfeminacy.  From  this  it  was  rescued,  both  by  his  strength,  and  by  the  air 
of  confidence  and  self-possession  with  which  the  youth  seemed  to  regard 
the  wonders  around  him,  not  indicating  the  stupid  and  helpless  gaze  of  a 
mind  equally  inexperienced,  and  incapable  of  receiving  instruction,  but 
expressing  the  bold  intellect  which  at  once  understands  the  greater  part  of 
the  information  which  it  receives,  and  commands  the  spirit  to  toil  in  search 
of  the  meaning  of  that  which  it  has  not  comprehended,  or  may  fear  it  has 
misinterpreted.  This  look  of  awakened  attention  and  intelligence  gave  inte¬ 
rest  to  the  young  barbarian  ;  and  while  the  bystanders  were  amazed  that  a 
savage  from  some  unknown  or  remote  corner  of  the  universe  should  possess 
a  noble  countenance  bespeaking  a  mind  so  elevated,  they  respected  him  for 
the  composure  with  which  he  witnessed  so  many  things,  the  fashion,  the 
splendour,  nay,  the  very  use  of  which,  must  have  been  recently  new  to  him. 

The  young  man’s  personal  equipments  exhibited  a  singular  mixture  of 
splendour  and  effeminacy,  and  enabled  the  experienced  spectators  to  ascer¬ 
tain  his  nation,  and  the  capacity  in  which  he  served.  We  have  already 
mentioned  the  fanciful  and  crested  helmet,  which  was  a  distinction  of  the 
foreigner,  to  which  the  reader  must  add  in  his  imagination  a  small  cuirass, 
or  breastplate  of  silver,  so  sparingly  fashioned  as  obviously  to  afford  little 
security  to  the  broad  chest,  on  which  it  rather  hung  like  an  ornament  than 
covered  as  a  buckler ;  nor,  if  a  well-thrown  dart,  or  strongly-shod  arrow, 
should  alight  full  on  this  rich  piece  of  armour,  was  there  much  hope  that  it 
could  protect  the  bosom  which  it  partially  shielded. 

From  betwixt  the  shoulders  hung  down  over  the  back  what  had  the  ap¬ 
pearance  of  a  bearskin  ;  but,  when  more  closely  examined,  it  was  only  a 
very  skilful  imitation  of  the  spoils  of  the  chase,  being  in  reality  a  surcoat 
composed  of  strong  shaggy  silk,  so  woven  as  to  exhibit,  at  a  little  distance, 
no  inaccurate  representation  of  a  bear’s  hide.  A  light  crooked  sword,  or 
scimitar,  sheathed  in  a  scabbard  of  gold  and  ivory,  hung  by  the  left  side  of 
the  stranger,  the  ornamented  hilt  of  which  appeared  much  too  small  for  the 
large-jointed  hand  of  the  young  Hercules  who  was  thus  gaily  attired.  A  dress, 
purple  in  colour,  and  setting  close  to  the  limbs,  covered  the  body  of  the  sol- 

had  not  seen  with  his  own  eyes  that  city,  the  Queen  of  all  cities.  And  know  that  there  was  not  so  bold  a 
heart  there,  that  it  did  not  feel  some  terror  at  the  strength  of  Constantinople.”  —  Chap.  66. 

Again,—"  And  now  many  of  those  of  the  host  went  to  see  Constantinople  within,  and  the  rich  palaces  and 
stately  churches,  of  whicli  it  posses.ees  so  many,  and  the  riches  of  the  place,  which  are  such  as  no  other  city 
ever  equalled.  I  need  not  speak  of  the  sanctuaries,  which  are  as  many  as  are  in  all  the  world  beside.”  — 
Chap.  100. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


23 


dier  to  a  little  above  the  knee ;  from  thence  the  knees  and  legs  were  bare  to 
the  calf,  to  which  the  reticulated  strings  of  the  sandals  rose  from  the  instep, 
the  ligatures  being  there  fixed  by  a  golden  coin  of  the  reigning  Emperor, 
converted  into  a  species  of  clasp  for  the  purpose. 

But  a  weapon  which  seemed  more  particularly  adapted  to  the  young  bar¬ 
barian’s  size,  and  incapable  of  being  used  by  a  man  of  less  formidable 
limbs  and  sinews,  was  a  battle-axe,  the  firm  iron-guarded  staff  of  which  was 
formed  of  tough  elm,  strongly  inlaid  and  defended  with  brass,  while  many 
a  plate  and  ring  were  indented  in  the  handle,  to  hold  the  wood  and  the  steel 
parts  together.  The  axe  itself  was  composed  of  two  blades,  turning  dif¬ 
ferent  ways,  with  a  sharp  steel  spike  projecting  from  between  them.  The 
steel  part,  both  spike  and  blade,  was  burnished  as  bright  as  a  mirror ;  and 
though  its  ponderous  size  must  have  been  burdensome  to  one  weaker  than 
himself,  yet  the  young  soldier  carried  it  as  carelessly  along,  as  if  it  were 
but  a  feather’s  weight.  It  was,  indeed,  a  skilfully  constructed  weapon,  so 
well  balanced,  that  it  was  much  lighter  in  striking  and  in  recovery,  than  he 
v;ho  saw  it  in  the  hands  of  another  could  easily  have  believed. 

The  carrying  arms  of  itself  showed  that  the  military  man  was  a  stranger. 
The  native  Greeks  had  that  mark  of  a  civilized  people,  that  they  never  bore 
weapons  during  the  time  of  peace,  unless  the  wearer  chanced  to  be  num¬ 
bered  among  those  whose  military  profession  and  employment  required 
them  to  be  always  in  arms.  Such  soldiers  by  profession  were  easily  distin¬ 
guished  from  the  peaceful  citizens  ;  and  it  was  with  some  evident  show  of 
fear  as  well  as  dislike,  that  the  passengers  observed  to  each  other,  that  the 
stranger  was  a  Varangian,  an  expression  which  intimated  a  barbarian  of 
the  imperial  body-guard. 

To  supply  the  deficiency  of  valour  among  his  own  subjects,  and  to  pro¬ 
cure  soldiers  who  should  be  personally  dependent  on  the  Emperor,  the 
Greek  sovereigns  had  been,  for  a  great  many  years,  in  the  custom  of  main¬ 
taining  in  their  pay,  as  near  their  person  as  they  could,  the  steady  services 
of  a  select  number  of  mercenaries  in  the  capacity  of  body-guards,  which 
were  numerous  enough,  when  their  steady  discipline  and  inflexible  loyalty 
were  taken  in  conjunction  with  their  personal  strength  and  indomitable 
courage,  to  defeat,  not  only  any  traitorous  attempt  on  the  imperial  person, 
but  to  quell  open  rebellions,  unless  such  were  supported  by  a  great  propor¬ 
tion  of  the  military  force.  Their  pay  was  therefore  liberal ;  their  rank  and 
established  character  for  prowess  gave  them  a  degree  of  consideration  among 
the  people,  whose  reputation  for  valour  had  not  for  some  ages  stood  high  ; 
and  if,  as  foreigners,  and  the  members  of  a  privileged  body,  the  Varangians 
were  sometimes  employed  in  arbitrary  and  unpopular  services,  the  natives 
were  so  apt  to  fear,  while  they  disliked  them,  that  the  hardy  strangers  dis¬ 
turbed  themselves  but  little  about  the  light  in  which  they  were  regarded  by 
the  inhabitants  of  Constantinople.  Their  dress  and  accoutrements,  while 
•within  the  city,  partook  of  the  rich,  or  rather  gaudy  costume,  which  we 
have  described,  bearing  only  a  sort  of  affected  resemblance  to  that  which 
the  Varangians  wore  in  their  native  forests.  But  the  individuals  of  this 
select  corps  were,  when  their  services  were  required  beyond  the  city,  fur¬ 
nished  with  armour  and  weapons  more  resembling  those  which  they  were 
accustomed  to  wield  in  their  own  country,  possessing  much  less  of  the 
splendour  of  war,  and  a  far  greater  portion  of  its  effective  terrors ;  and  thus 
they  were  summoned  to  take  the  field. 

This  body  of  Varangians  (which  term  is,  according  to  one  interpretation, 
merely  a  general  expression  for  barbarians)  was,  in  an  early  age  of  the 
empire,  formed  of  the  roving  and  piratical  inhabitants  of  the  north,  whom 
a  love  of  adventure,  the  greatest  perhaps  that  ever  was  indulged,  and  a  con-, 
tempt  of  danger,  which  never  had  a  parallel  in  the  history  of  human  nature, 
drove  forth  upon  the  pathless  ocean.  “Piracy,”  says  Gibbon,  with  his 
usual  spirit,  “  was  the  exercise,  the  trade,  the  glory,  and  the  virtue  of  the 


24 


WAVER  LEY  NOVELS. 


Scandinavian  youth.  Impatient  of  a  bleak  climate  and  narrow  limits,  they 
started  from  the  banquet,  grasped  their  arms,  sounded  their  horn,  ascended 
their  ships,  and  explored  every  coast  that  promised  either  spoil  or  settle¬ 
ment.^'* 

The  conquests  made  in  France  and  Britain  by  these  wild  sea-kings,  as 
they  were  called,  have  obscured  the  remembrance  of  other  northern  cham¬ 
pions,  who,  long  before  the  time  of  Comnenus,  made  excursions  as  far  as 
Constantinople,  and  witnessed  with  their  own  eyes  the  wealth  and  the  weak¬ 
ness  of  the  Grecian  empire  itself.  Numbers  found  their  way  thither  through 
the  pathless  wastes  of  Russia;  others  navigated  the  Mediterranean  in  their 
sea-serpents,  as  they  termed  their  piratical  vessels.  The  Emperors,  terrified 
at  the  appearance  of  these  daring  inhabitants  of  the  frozen  zone,  had  recourse 
to  the  usual  policy  of  a  rich  and  unwarlike  people,  bought  with  gold  the  ser¬ 
vice  of  their  swords,  and  thus  formed  a  corps  of  satellites  more  distinguished 
for  valour  than  the  famed  Praetorian  Bands  of  Rome,  and,  perhaps  because 
fewer  in  number,  unalterably  loyal  to  their  new  princes. 

But,  at  a  later  period  of  the  empire,  it  began  to  be  more  difficult  for  the 
Emperors  to  obtain  recruits  for  their  favourite  and  selected  corps,  the 
northern  nations  having  now  in  a  great  measure  laid  aside  the  piratical  and 
roving  habits,  which  had  driven  their  ancestors  from  the  straits  of  Elsinore 
to  those  of  Sestos  and  Abydos.  The  corps  of  the  Varangians  must  there¬ 
fore  have  died  out,  or  have  been  filled  up  with  less  worthy  materials,  had 
not  the  conquests  made  by  the  Normans  in  the  far  distant  west,  sent  to  the 
aid  of  Comnenus  a  large  body  of  the  dispossessed  inhabitants  of  the  islands 
of  Britain,  and  particularly  of  England,  who  furnished  recruits  to  his  chosen 
body-guard.  These  were,  in  fact,  Anglo-Saxons  ;  but,  in  the  confused  idea 
of  geography  received  at  the  court  of  Constantinople,  they  were  naturally 
enough  called  Anglo-Danes,  as  their  native  country  was  confounded  with 
the  Thule  of  the  ancients,  by  which  expression  the  archipelago  of  Zetland 
and  Orkney  is  properly  to  be  understood,  though,  according  to  the  notions 
of  the  Greeks,  it  comprised  either  Denmark  or  Britain.  The  emigrants, 
however,  spoke  a  language  not  very  dissimilar  to  the  original  Varangians, 
and  adopted  the  name  more  readily,  that  it  seemed  to  remind  them  of  their 
unhappy  fate,  the  appellation  being  in  one  sense  capable  of  being  interpreted 
as  exiles.  Excepting  one  or  two  chief  commanders,  whom  the  Emperor 
judged  worthy  of  such  high  trust,  the  Varangians  were  officered  by  men  of 
their  own  nation ;  and  with  so  many  privileges,  being  joined  by  many  of 
their  countrymen  from  time  to  time,  as  the  crusades,  pilgrimages,  or  discon¬ 
tent  at  home,  drove  fresh  supplies  of  the  Anglo-Saxons,  or  Anglo-Danes,  to 
the  east,  the  Varangians  subsisted  in  strength  to  the  last  days  of  the  Greek 
empire,  retaining  their  native  language,  along  with  the  unblemished  loyalty, 
and  unabated  martial  spirit,  which  characterised  their  fathers. 

This  account  of  the  Varangian  Guard  is  strictly  historical,  and  might  be 
proved  by  reference  to  the  Byzantine  historians ;  most  of  whom,  and  also 
Villehardouin's  account  of  the  taking  of  the  city  of  Constantinople  by  the 
Franks  and  Venetians,  make  repeated  mention  of  this  celebrated  and  sin¬ 
gular  body  of  Englishmen,  forming  a  mercenary  guard  attendant  on  the 
person  of  the  Greek  Emperors.f 

*  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire.  Chap.  Iv.  vol.  x.  p.  221,  8vo  edili()n. 

t  Ducange  has  poured  forth  a  tide  of  learning^  on  this  curious  subject,  which  will  lie  found  in  his  Notes  on 
Villehardouin’s  Constantinople  under  the  French  Emperors. — Pans,  1637,  folio,  p.  196.  Gibbon’s  History  may 
also  be  donsulted,  vol.  x.  p.  231. 

Villehardouin,  in  describing  the  siege  of  Constantinople,  A.  D.  1203,  says,  “  'Li  murs  fu  mult  garnis  d’Anglois 
et  de  Danois,’’ — hence  the  dissertation  of  Ducange  liere  quoted,  and  several  articles  besides  in  his  Glossariurn, 
as  Varangi,  Warengangi,  <tc.  The  etymology  of  the  name  is  left  uncertain,  though  the  German  fort-ganger, 
i.  e.  forlh-goer,  wanderer,  eatfte,  seems  the  most  probable.  ^The  term  occurs  in  various  Italian  and  Sicilian 
documents,  anterior  to  the  establishment  of  the  Varangian  Guards  at  Constantinople,  and  collected  by  Mura- 
ton  ;  as,  for  instance,  in  an  edict  of  one  of  the  Lombard  kings,  ‘’Omnes  Warengangi,  qui  de  exteris  finibus  in 
regni  nostri  finibus  advenerint  seque  sub  scuto  potestatis  nostne  subdiderint,  legibus  nostris  Longobardormn 
vivere  debeant,” — and  in  another,  "De  Warengangis,  nobilibus,  mediocribus,  et  rusticis  hominibus,  qui  usque 
nunc  in  terra  vestra  fugiti  sunt,  halieatis  eos.” — Muraiori,  vol  li.  p.  261. 

With  regard  to  the  origin  of  the  Varangian  Guard,  the  most  distinct  testimony  is  that  of  Ordericus  Vittalis, 
who  says,  "  Wiien  therefore  the  English  had  lost  their  liberty,  they  turned  themselves  with  zeal  to  discover 


I 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


Having  said  enough  to  explain  why  an  individual  Varangian  should  ho 
strolling  about  the  Golden  Gate,  we  may  proceed  in  the  story  which  Ave  have 
commenced. 

Let  it  not  be  thought  extraordinary,  that  this  soldier  of  the  life-guard 
should  be  looked  upon  with  some  degree  of  curiosity  by  the  passing  citizens. 
It  must  be  supposed,  that,  from  their  peculiar  duties,  they  were  not  encou¬ 
raged  to  hold  frequent  intercourse  or  communication  with  the  inhabitants  ; 
and,  besides  that  they  had  duties  of  police  occasionally  to  exercise  amongst 
them,  which  made  them  generally  more  dreaded  than  beloved,  they  were  at 
the  same  time  conscious,  that  their  high  pay,  splendid  appointments,  and 
immediate  dependence  on  the  Emperor,  Avere  subjects  of  envy  to  the  other 
forces.  They,  therefore,  kept  much  in  the  neighbourhood  of  their  OAvn  bar¬ 
racks,  and  were  seldom  seen  straggling  remote  from  them,  unless  they  had 
a  commission  of  government  intrusted  to  their  charge. 

This  being  the  case,  it  Avas  natural  that  a  people  so  curious  as  the  Greeks 
should  busy  themselves  in  eyeing  the  stranger  as  he  loitered  in  one  spot,  or 
wandered  to  and  fro,  like  a  man  who  either  could  not  find  some  place  which 
he  was  seeking,  or  had  failed  to  meet  some  person  with  whom  he  had  an 
appointment,  for  which  the  ingenuity  of  the  passengers  found  a  thousand 
different  and  inconsistent  reasons.  “A  Varangian,’^  said  one  citizen  to 
another,  “and  upon  duty — ahem  !  Then  I  presume  to  say  in  your  ear’^ - 

“What  do  you  imagine  is  his  object?”  enquired  the  party  to  whom  this 
information  Avas  addressed. 

“  Gods  and  goddesses  !  do  you  think  I  can  tell  you  ?  but  suppose  that  he 
is  lurking  here  to  hear  what  folk  say  of  the  Emperor,”  ansAvered  the  quid¬ 
nunc  of  Constantinople. 

“  That  is  not  likely,”  said  the  querist ;  “  these  Varangians  do  not  speak 
our  language,  and  are  not  extremely  well  fitted  for  spies,  since  fcAV  of  them 
pretend  to  any  intelligible  notion  of  the  Grecian  tongue.  It  is  not  likely,  I 
think,  that  the  Emperor  aa^ouM  employ  as  a  spy  a  man  who  did  not  under¬ 
stand  the  language  of  the  country.” 

“  But  if  there  are,  as  all  men  fancy,”  answered  the  politician,  “  persons 
among  these  barbarian  soldiers  Avho  can  speak  almost  all  languages,  you 
will  admit  that  such  are  excellently  qualified  for  seeing  clearly  around  them, 
since  they  possess  the  talent  of  beholding  and  reporting,  while  no  one  has 
the  slightest  idea  of  suspecting  them. 

“  It  may  well  be,”  replied  his  companion  ;  “  but  since  we  see  so  clearly 
the  fox’s  foot  and  paAvs  protruding  from  beneath  the  seeming  sheep’s  fleece, 
or  rather,  by  your  leave,  the  bear’s  hide  yonder,  had  Ave  not  better  bo 
jogging  tiomcAvard,  ere  it  be  pretended  we  have  insulted  a  Varangian 
Guard  ?” 

This  surmise  of  danger  insinuated  by  the  last  speaker,  who  Avas  a  much 
older  and  more  experienced  politician  than  his  friend,  determined  both  on 
a  hasty  retreat.  They  adjusted  their  cloaks,  caught  hold  of  each  other’s 
arm,  and,  speaking  fast  and  thick  as  they  started  new  subjects  of  suspicion, 
they  sped,  close  coupled  together,  towards  their  habitations,  in  a  different 
and  distant  quarter  of  the  tOAvn. 

In  the  meantime,  the  sunset  Avas  nigh  over ;  and  the  long  shadows  of  the 
walls,  bulwarks,  and  arches,  were  projecting  from  the  westAvard  in  deeper 
and  blacker  shade.  The  Varangian  seemed  tired  of  the  short  and  lingering 

the  means  of  throwing  off  the  nuaccustoined  yoke.  Some  fled  to  Sueno.  Kins  of  the  Panes,  to  exrife  him  to 
the  recovery  of  the  inheritance  of  his  grandfather,  Canute.  Not  a  few  fled  into  exile  in  other  regions,  either 
from  the  mere  desire  of  escaping  from  under  the  Norman  rule,  or  in  the  hope  of  acquiring  wealth,  and  si> 
being  one  day  in  a  condition  to  renew  the  struggle  at  home.  Some  of  these,  in  the  bliHim  of  youtji.  penetrated 
into  a  far  distant  land,  and  offered  themselves  to  the  nnlitary  service  of  the  Constantmopoiitan  Emperor — that 
wise  prince,  against  whom  Robert  Guiscard,  Duke  of  Apulia,  had  then  raised  all  his  forces.  '1  he  English 
exiles  were  favourably  received,  and  opposed  in  battle  to  the  Normans,  for  whose  encounier  the  Greeks  tbem- 
aelves  were  too  weak.  Alexius  began  to  build  a  town  for  the  English,  a  little  above  Constantinople,  at  a 
place  called  C/tevtlol,  but  the  trouble  of  the  Normans  from  Sicily  still  iiicreasiiig,  he_^  soon  recalled  them  to 
the  capital,  and  intrusted  the  princial  palace  with  all  its  treasures  to  their  keeping.  '1  his  was  tlie  me-thoil  in 
wliicli  the  Saxon  English  found  their  way  to  Ionia,  where  they  still  remain,  highly  valued  by  the  Emperor 
vttid  the  peo,jle.” — Book  iv.  ji.  .'KW. 

(’ 


20 


W  A  V  E  K  L  E  V  NOVELS. 


circle  in  which  ho  had  now  trodden  for  more  than  an  hour,  and  in  which 
he  still  loitered  like  an  unliberated  spirit,  which  cannot  leave  the  haunted 
spot  till  licensed  bj  the  spell  which  has  brought  it  hither.  Even  so  the 
barbarian,  casting  an  impatient  glance  to  the  sun,  which  was  setting  in  a 
blaze  of  light  behind  a  rich  grove  of  cypress-trees,  looked  for  some  ac¬ 
commodation  on  the  benches  of  stone  which  were  placed  under  shadow  of 
the  triumphal  arch  of  Theodosius,  drew  the  axe,  which  w^as  his  principal 
weapon,  close  to  his  side,  wrapped  his  cloak  about  him,  and,  though  his 
dress  was  not  in  other  respects  a  fit  attire  for  slumber,  any  more  than  the 
place  well  selected  for  repose,  yet  in  less  than  three  minutes  he  was  fast 
asleep.  The  irresistible  impulse  which  induced  him  to  seek  for  repose  in  a 
place  very  indifferently  fitted  for  the  purpose,  might  be  weariness  consequent 
upon  the  military  vigils,  which  had  proved  a  part  of  his  duty  on  the  pre¬ 
ceding  evening.  At  the  same  time,  his  spirit  was  so  alive  within  him,  even 
while  he  gave  way  to  this  transient  fit  of  oblivion,  that  he  remained  almost 
awake  even  with  shut  eyes,  and  no  hound  ever  seemed  to  sleep  more  lightly 
than  our  Anglo-Saxon  at  the  Golden  Gate  of  Constantinople. 

And  now  the  sluraberer,  as  the  loiterer  had  been  before,  was  the  subject 
of  observation  to  the  accidental  passengers.  Two  men  entered  the  porch  in 
company.  One  "was  a  somewhat  slight  made,  but  alert-looking  man,  by 
name  Lysimachus,  and  by  profession  a  designer.  A  roll  of  paper  in  his 
hand,  with  a  little  satchel  containing  a  few  chalks,  or  pencils,  completed 
his  stock  in  trade ;  and  his  acquaintance  with  the  remains  of  ancient  art 
gave  him  a  power  of  talking  on  the  subject,  which  unfortunately  bore  more 
than  due  proportion  to  his  talents  of  execution.  His  companion,  a  mag¬ 
nificent-looking  man  in  form,  and  so  far  resembling  the  young  barbarian, 
but  more  clownish  and  peasant-like  in  the  expression  of  his  features,  was 
Stephanos  the  wrestler,  well  known  in  the  Palestra. 

“  Stop  here,  my  friend,’^  said  the  artist,  producing  his  pencils,  “  till  I 
make  a  sketch  for  my  youthful  Ilercules.^^ 

“  I  thought  Hercules  had  been  a  Greek,’’  said  the  wrestler.  “  This  sleep¬ 
ing  animal  is  a  barbarian.” 

The  tone  intimated  some  offence,  and  the  designer  hastened  to  soothe  the 
displeasure  which  he  had  thoughtlessly  excited.  Stephanos,  known  by  the 
surname  of  Castor,  w^ho  was  highly  distinguished  for  gymnastic  exercises, 
was  a  sort  of  patron  to  the  little  artist,  and  not  unlikely  by  his  own  repu¬ 
tation  to  bring  the  talents  of  his  friend  into  notice. 

“  Beauty  and  strength,”  said  the  adroit  artist,  “  are  of  no  particular 
nation ;  and  may  our  Muse  never  deign  me  her  prize,  but  it  is  my  greatest 
pleasure  to  compare  them,  as  existing  in  the  uncultivated  savage  of  the 
north,  and  when  they  are  found  in  the  darling  of  an  enlightened  people, 
who  has  added  the  height  of  gymnastic  skill  to  the  most  distinguished 
natural  qualities,  such  as  we  can  now  only  see  in  the  works  of  Phidias 
and  Praxiteles — or  in  our  living  model  of  the  gymnastic  champions  of 
antiquity.” 

“Nay,  I  acknowledge  that  the  Varangian  is  a  proper  man,”  said  the 
athletic  hero,  softening  his  tone ;  “  but  the  poor  savage  hath  not,  perhaps, 
in  his  lifetime,  had  a  single  drop  of  oil  on  his  bosom  !  Hercules  instituted 
the  Isthmian  Games” - 

“But  hold!  what  sleeps  he  with,  wrapt  so  close  in  his  bear-skin?”  said 
the  artist.  “  Is  it  a  club  ?” 

“  Away,  away,  my  friend!”  cried  Stephanos,  as  they  looked  closer  on  the 
sleeper.  “  Do  you  not  know  that  is  the  instrument  of  their  barbarous 
office?  They  do  not  war  with  swords  or  lances,  as  if  destined  to  attack 
men  of  flesh  and  blood ;  but  with  maces  and  axes,  as  if  they  were  to  hack 
limbs  formed  of  stone,  and  sinews  of  oak.  I  will  wager  my  crown  [of 
withered  parsley]  that  he  lies  here  to  arrest  some  distinguished  commander 
who  has  offendeil  the  government!  He  would  not  have  been  thus  formid- 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS.  27 

ably  armed  otherwise — Away,  away,  good  Lysimachus  ;  let  us  respect  the 
slumbers  of  the  bear/^ 

So  saying,  the  champion  of  the  Palestra  made  off  with  less  apparent 
confidence  than  his  size  and  strength  might  have  inspired. 

Others,  now  thinly  straggling,  passed  onward  as  the  evening  closed,  and 
the  shadows  of  the  cypress-trees  fell  darker  around.  Two  females  of  the 
lower  rank  cast  their  eyes  on  the  sleeper.  “  Holy  Maria  said  one,  “  if 
he  does  not  put  me  in  mind  of  the  Eastern  tale,  how  the  Genie  brought  a 
gallant  young  prince  from  his  nuptial  chamber  in  Egypt,  and  left  him 
sleeping  at  the  gate  of  Damascus.  I  will  awake  the  poor  lamb,  lest  ho 
catch  harm  from  the  night  dew.'^ 

“  Harm  V’  answered  the  older  and  crosser  looking  woman.  “  Ay,  such 
harm  as  the  cold  water  of  the  Cydnus  does  to  the  wild-swan.  A  lamb  ?  — 
ay,  forsooth!  Why  he's  a  wolf  or  a  bear,  at  least  a  Varangian,  and  no 
modest  matron  would  exchange  a  word  with  such  an  unmannered  barbarian. 
I'll  tell  you  what  one  of  these  English  Danes  did  to  me" - 

So  saying,  she  drew  on  her  companion,  who  followed  with  some  reluc- 
t.ance,  seeming  to  listen  to  her  gabble,  while  she  looked  back  upon  the 
sleeper. 

The  total  disappearance  of  the  sun,  and  nearly  at  the  same  time  the 
departure  of  the  twilight,  which  lasts  so  short  time  in  that  tropical  region 
■ — one  of  the  few  advantages  which  a  more  temperate  climate  possesses 
over  it,  being  the  longer  continuance  of  that  sweet  and  placid  light — -gave 
signal  to  the  warders  of  the  city  to  shut  the  folding  leaves  of  the  Golden 
Gate,  leaving  a  wicket  lightly  bolted  for  the  passage  of  those  whom  business 
might  have  detained  too  late  without  the  walls,  and  indeed  for  all  who 
chose  to  pay  a  small  coin.  The  position  and  apparent  insensibility  of  the 
Varangian  did  not  escape  those  who  had  charge  of  the  gate,  of  whom  there 
was  a  strong  guard,  w’hich  belonged  to  the  ordinary  Greek  forces. 

“By  Castor  and  by  Pollux,"  said  the  centurion  —  for  the  Greeks  swore 
by  the  ancient  deities,  although  they  no  longer  worshipped  them,  and  pre¬ 
served  those  military  distinctions  with  which  “  the  steady  Homans  shook 
the  world,"  although  they  were  altogether  degenerated  from  their  original 
manners — “  By  Castor  and  Pollux,  comrades,  we  cannot  gather  gold  in  this 
gate,  according  as  its  legend  tells  us  :  3"et  it  will  be  our  fault  if  we  cannot 
glean  a  goodly  crop  of  silver;  and  though  the  golden  age  be  the  most 
ancient  and  honourable,  yet  in  this  degenerate  time  it  is  much  if  we  see  a 
glimpse  of  the  inferior  metal." 

“Unworthy  are  we  to  follow  the  noble  centurion  Ilarpax,"  answered  one 
of  the  soldiers  of  the  watch,  who  showed  the  shaven  head  and  the  single 
tuft*  of  a  Mussulman,  “if  we  do  not  hold  silver  a  sufficient  cause  to  bestir 
ourselves,  when  there  has  been  no  gold  to  be  had  —  as,  by  the  faith  of  an 
honest  man,  I  think  we  can  hardly  tell  its  colour — whether  out  of  the  im¬ 
perial  treasury,  or  obtained  at  the  expense  of  individuals,  for  many  long 
moons !" 

“But  this  silver,"  said  the  centurion,  “thou  shalt  see  with  thine  own 
eye,  and  hear  it  ring  a  knell  in  the  purse  which  holds  our  common  stock." 

“AVhich  did  hold  it,  as  thou  wouldst  say,  most  valiant  commander,"  re¬ 
plied  the  inferior  warder ;  “but  what  that  purse  holds  now,  save  a  few 
miserable  oboli  for  purchasing  certain  pickled  potherbs  and  salt  fish,  to 
relish  our  allowance  of  stummed  wine,  I  cannot  tell,  but  willingly  give  my 
share  of  the  contents  to  the  devil,  if  either  purse  or  platter  exhibits  symp¬ 
tom  of  any  age  richer  than  the  age  of  copper." 

“  I  will  replenish  our  treasury,"  said  the  centurion,  “  were  our  stock  yet 
lower  than  it  is.  Stand  up  close  by  the  wicket,  my  masters.  Bethink  you 
we  are  the  Imperial. Guards,  or  the  guards  of  the  Imperial  City,  it  is  all  one, 

•  One  tuft  is  left  on  the  shaven  crown  of  the  Moslem,  for  the  angel  to  crasp  by,  when  conveying  him  to 
Paradise 


28 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


and  let  us  have  no  man  rush  past  us  on  a  sudden  ;  —  and  now  that  we  are 

oil  our  guard,  I  will  unfold  to  you - But  stop,’'  said  the  valiant  centurion, 

‘‘ are  we  all  here  true  brothers?  Do  all  well  understand  the  ancient  and 
laudable  customs  of  our  watch — keeping  all  things  secret  which  concern  the 
profit  and  advantage  of  this  our  vigil,  and  aiding  and  abetting  the  common 
cause,  without  information  or  treachery  V’  v 

“  You  are  strangely  suspicious  to-night,"  answered  the  sentinel.  “  Me- 
thinks  we  have  stood  by  you  without  tale-telling  in  matters  which  were 
more  weighty.  Have  you  forgot  the  passage  of  the  jeweller  —  which  was 
neither  the  gold  nor  silver  age ;  but  if  there  were  a  diamond  one" - 

“Peace,  good  Ismail  the  Infidel,"  said  the  centurion,  —  “for,  I  thank 
Heaven,  we  are  of  all  religions,  so  it  is  to  be  hoped  we  must  have  the  true 
one  amongst  us,  —  Peace,  1  say  ;  it  is  unnecessary  to  prove  thou  canst  keep 
new  secrets,  by  ripping  up  old  ones.  Come  hither — look  through  the  Avicket 
to  the  stone  bench,  on  the  shady  side  of  the  grand  porch  —  tell  me,  old  lad, 
what  dost  thou  see  there  ?" 

“A  man  asleep,"  said  Ismail.  “By  Heaven,  I  think  from  what  I  can 
see  by  the  moonlight,  that  it  is  one  of  those  barbarians,  one  of  those  island 
dogs,  whom  the  Emperor  sets  such  store  by !" 

“  And  can  thy  fertile  brain,"  said  the  centurion,  “  spin  nothing  out  of  his 
present  situation,  tending  towards  our  advantage?" 

“  Why,  ay,"  said  Ismail ;  “  they  have  large  pay,  though  they  are  not  only 
barbarians,  but  pagan  dogs,  in  comparison  with  us  Moslems  and  Nazarenes. 
That  fellow  hath  besotted  himself  Avith  liquor,  and  hath  not  found  his  way 
home  to  his  barracks  in  good  time.  He  Avill  be  severely  punished,  unless 
we  consent  to  admit  him ;  and  to  prevail  on  us  to  do  so,  he  must  empty  the 
contents  of  his  girdle." 

“  That,  at  least — that,  at  least,"  ansAvered  the  soldiers  of  the  city  AA’atch, 
but  carefully  suppressing  their  voices,  though  they  spoke  in  an  eager  tone. 

“  And  is  that  all  that  you  would  make  of  such  an  opportunity  ?"  said 
Harpax,  scornfully.  “No,  no,  comrades.  If  this  outlandish  animal  indeed 
escape  us,  he  must  at  least  leave  his  fleece  behind.  See  you  not  the  gleams 
from  his  headpiece  and  his  cuirass  ?  I  presume  these  betoken  substantial 
silver,  though  it  may  be  of  the  thinnest.  There  lies  the  silver  mine  I  spoke 
of,  ready  to  enrich  the  dexterous  hands  Avho  shall  labour  it." 

“  But,"  said  timidly  a  young  Greek,  a  companion  of  their  Avatch  lately 
enlisted  in  the  corps,  and  unacquainted  with  their  habits,  “  still  this  bar¬ 
barian,  as  you  call  him,  is  a  soldier  of  the  Emperor ;  and  if  we  are  con¬ 
victed  of  depriving  him  of  his  arms,  aa'O  shall  be  justly  punished  for  a 
military  crime." 

“  Hear  to  a  new  Lycurgus  come  to  teach  us  our  duty  !"  said  the  centurion. 
“  Learn  first,  young  man,  that  the  metropolitan  cohort  never  can  commit  a 
crime  ;  and  next,  of  course,  that  they  can  never  be  convicted  of  one.  Sup¬ 
pose  we  found  a  straggling  barbarian,  a  Varangian,  like  this  slumberer, 
perhaps  a  Frank,  or  some  other  of  these  foreigners  bearing  unpronounceable 
names,  while  they  dishonour  us  by  putting  on  the  arms  and  apparel  of  the 
real  Roman  soldier,  are  Ave,  placed  to  defend  an  important  post,  to  admit  a 
man  so  suspicious  within  our  postern,  when  the  event  may  probably  be  to 
betray  both  the  Golden  Gate  and  the  hearts  of  gold  Avho  guard  it, — to  have 
the  one  seized,  and  the  throats  of  the  others  handsomely  cut  ?" 

“  Keep  him  without  side  of  the  gate,  then,"  replied  the  novice,  “  if  you 
think  him  so  dangerous.  For  my  part,  I  should  not  fear  him,  AA^ere  he 
deprived  of  that  huge  double-edged  axe,  Avhich  gleams  from  under  his  cloak, 
having  a  more  deadly  glare  than  the  comet  Avhich  astrologers  prophesy  such 
strange  things  of." 

“  Nay,  then,  we  agree  together,"  answered  Harpax,  “  and  you  speak  like 
a  youth  of  modesty  and  sense  ;  and  I  promise  you  the  state  will  lose  nothing 
in  the  despoiling  of  this  same  btirbarian.  Each  of  these  savages  hath  a 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


29 


double  set  of  accoutrements,  the  one  wrought  with  gold,  silver,  inlaid  work, 
and  ivory,  as  becomes  their  duties  in  the  prince’s  household ;  the  other 
fashioned  of  triple  steel,  strong,  weighty,  and  irresistible.  Now,  in  taking 
from  this  suspicious  character  his  silver  helmet  and  cuirass,  you  reduce  him 
to  his  proper  weapons,  and  you  will  see  him  start  up  in  arms  fit  for  duty.” 

“Yes,”  said  the  novice;  “but  I  do  not  see  that  this  reasoning  will  do 
more  than  waftant  our  stripping  the  Varangian  of  his  armour,  to  be  after¬ 
wards  heedfully  returned  to  him  on  the  morrow,  if  he  prove  a  true  man. 
How,  I  know  not,  but  I  had  adopted  some  idea  that  it  was  to  be  confiscated 
-  for  our  joint  behoof.” 

“  Unquestionably,”  said  Ilarpax  ;  “  for  such  has  been  the  rule  of  our 
watch  ever  since  the  days  of  the  excellent  centurion  Sisyphus,  in  whose 
time  it  first  was  determined,  that  all  contraband  commodities  or  suspicious 
weapons,  or  the  like,  which  were  brought  into  the  city  during  the  night- 
watch,  should  be  uniformly  forfeited  to  the  use  of  the  soldiery  of  the  guard ; 
and  where  the  Emperor  finds  the  goods  or  arms  unjustly  seized,  I  hope  he 
is  rich  enough  to  make  it  up  to  the  sufferer.” 

“  But  still — but  still,”  said  Sebastes  of  Mitylene,  the  young  Greek  afore¬ 
said,  “were  the  Emperor  to  discover” - 

“  Ass !”  replied  Ilarpax,  “  he  cannot  discover,  if  he  had  all  the  eyes  of 
Argus’s  tail.  —  Here  are  twelve  of  us  sworn  according  to  the  rules  of  the 
watch,  to  abide  in  the  same  story.  Here  is  a  barbarian,  who,  if  he  remem¬ 
bers  any  thing  of  the  matter — which  I  greatly  doubt — his  choice  of  a  lodg¬ 
ing  arguing  his  familiarity  with  the  wine-pot — tells  but  a  wild  tale  of  losing 
his  armour,  which  we,  my  masters,”  (looking  round  to  his  companions,) 
“deny  stoutly — I  hope  we  have  courage  enough  for  that — and  which  party 
will  be  believed?  The  companions  of  the. watch,  surely!” 

“  Quite  the  contrary,”  said  Sebastes.  “  I  was  born  at  a  distance  from 
hence ;  yet  even  in  the  island  of  Mitylene,  the  rumour  had  reached  me  that 
the  cavaliers  of  the  city-guard  of  Constantinople  were  so  accomplished  in 
falsehood,  that  the  oath  of  a  single  barbarian  would  outweigh  the  Christian 
oath  of  the  whole  body,  if  Christians  some  of  them  are  —  for  example,  this 
dark  man  with  a  single  tuft  on  his  head.” 

“  And  if  it  were  even  so,”  said  the  centurion,  with  a  gloomy  and  sinister 
look,  “  there  is  another  way  of  making  the  transaction  a  safe  one.” 

Sebastes,  fixing  his  eye  on  his  commander,  moved  his  hand  to  the  hilt  of 
an  Eastern  poniard  which  he  wore,  as  if  to  penetrate  his  exact  meaning. 
The  centurion  nodded  in  acquiescence. 

“  Ytoung  as  I  am,”  said  Sebastes,  “  I  have  been  already  a  pirate  five  years 
at  sea,  and  a  robber  three  years  now  in  the  hills,  and  it  is  the  first  time  I 
have  seen  or  heard  a  man  hesitate,  in  such  a  case,  to  take  the  only  part 
which  is  worth  a  brave  man’s  while  to  resort  to  in  a  pressing  affair.” 

Ilarpax  struck  his  hand  into  that  of  the  soldier,  as  sharing  his  uncompro¬ 
mising  sentiments ;  but  when  he  spoke,  it  was  in  a  tremulous  voice. 

“  How  shall  we  deal  with  him  ?”  said  he  to  Sebastes,  who,  from  the  most 
raw  recruit  in  the  corps,  had  now  risen  to  the  highest  place  in  his  esti¬ 
mation. 

“  Any  how,”  returned  the  islander  ;  “  I  see  bows  here  and  shafts,  and  if 
no  other  person  can  use  them” - 

“  They  are  not,”  said  the  centurion,  “  the  regular  arms  of  our  corps.” 

“  The  fitter  you  to  guard  the  gates  of  a  city,”  said  the  young  soldier,  with 
a  horse-laugh,  which  had  something  insulting  in  it.  “Well  —  be  it  so.  I 
can  shoot  like  a  Scythian,”  he  proceeded;  “nod  but  with  your  head,  one 
shaft  shall  crash  among  the  splinters  of  his  skull  and  his  brains  ;  the  second 
shall  quiver  in  his  heart.” 

“  Bravo,  my  noble  comrade !”  said  Ilarpax,  in  a  tone  of  affected  rapture, 
alwa3’S  lowering  his  voice,  however,  as  respecting  the  slumbers  of  the  \  aran- 
gian.  “  Such  were  the  robbers  of  ancient  days,  the  Diomedes,  Corvnetes, 

r2 


30 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


Synnes,  Scyrons,  Procrustes,  •whom  it  required  demigods  to  bring  to  what 
was  miscalled  justice,  and  whose  compeers  and  fellows  will  remain  masters 
of  the  continent  and  isles»of  Greece,  until  Hercules  and  Theseus  shall  again 
appear  upon  earth.  Nevertheless,  shoot  not,  my  valiant  Sebastes  —  draw 
not  the  bow,  my  invaluable  Mitylenian  ;  you  may  wound  and  not  kill.’’ 

“  I  am  little  wont  to  do  so,”  said  Sebastes,  again  repeating  the  hoarse, 
chuckling,  discordant  laugh,  which  grated  upon  the  ears  of  the  centurion, 
though  he  could  hardly  tell  the  reason  why  it  was  so  uncommonly  unpleasant. 

“  If  I  look  not  about  me,”  was  his  internal  reflection,  “we  shall  have  two 
centurions  of  the  watch,  instead  of  one.  This  Mitylenian,  or  be  he  who 
the  devil  will,  is  a  bow’s  length  beyond  me.  I  must  keep  my  eye  on  him.’^ 
He  then  spoke  aloud,  in  a  tone  of  authority.  “  But,  come,  young  man,  it 
is  hard  to  discourage  a  young  beginner.  If  you  have  been  such  a  rover  of 
wood  and  river  as  you  tell  us  of,  you  know  how  to  play  the  Sicarius :  there 
lies  your  object,  drunk  or  asleep,  we  know  not  which  ;  —  you  will  deal  with 
him  in  either  case.” 

“  Will  you  give  me  no  odds  to  stab  a  stupefied  or  drunken  man,  most  noble 
centurion  ?”  answered  the  Greek.  “  You  would  perhaps  love  the  commis¬ 
sion  yourself?”  he  continued,  somewhat  ironically. 

“  I)o  as  you  are  directed,  friend,”  said  Harpax,  pointing  to  the  turret 
staircase  which  led  down  from  the  battlement  to  the  arched  entrance  under¬ 
neath  the  porch. 

“  He  has  the  true  cat-like  stealthy  pace,”  half  muttered  the  centurion,  as 
his  sentinel  descended  to  do  such  a  crime  as  he  was  posted  there  to  prevent. 
“  This  cockerel’s  comb  must  be  cut,  or  he  will  become  king  of  the  roost. 
But  let  us  see  if  his  hand  be  as  resolute  as  his  tongue ;  then  we  will  con¬ 
sider  what  turn  to  give  to  the  conclusion.” 

As  Harpax  spoke  between  his  teeth,  and  rather  to  himself  than  any  of 
his  companions,  the  Mitylenian  emerged  from  under  the  archway,  treading 
on  tiptoe,  yet  swiftly,  with  an  admirable  mixture  of  silence  and  celerity. 
His  poniard,  drawn  as  he  descended,  gleamed  in  his  hand,  which  was  held 
a  little  behind  the  rest  of  his  person,  so  as  to  conceal  it.  The  assassin 
hovered  less  than  an  instant  over  the  sleeper,  as  if  to  mark  the  interval 
between  the  ill-fated  silver  corslet,  and  the  body  which  it  was  designed  to 
protect,  when,  at  the  instant  the  blow  was  rushing  to  its  descent,  the  Varan¬ 
gian  started  up  at  once,  arrested  the  armed  hand  of  the  assassin,  by  striking 
it  upwards  with  the  head  of  his  battle-axe;  and  while  he  thus  parried  the 
intended  stab,  struck  the  Greek  a  blow  heavier  than  Sebastes  had  ever 
learned  at  the  Pancration,  which  left  him  scarce  the  power  to  cry  help  to 
his  comrades  on  the  battlements.  They  saw  what  had  happened,  however, 
and  beheld  the  barbarian  set  his  foot  on  their  companion,  and  brandish  high 
his  formidable  weapon,  the  whistling  sound  of  which  made  the  old  arch  ring 
ominously,  while  he  paused  an  instant,  with  his  weapon  upheaved,  ere  he 
gave  the  finishing  blow  to  his  enemy.  The  warders  made  a  bustle,  as  if 
some  of  them  would  descend  to  the  assistance  of  Sebastes,  without,  how¬ 
ever,  appearing  very  eager  to  do  so,  when  Harpax,  in  a  rapid  Avhisper,  com¬ 
manded  them  to  stand  fast. 

“  Each  man  to  his  place,”  he  said,  “  happen  what  may.  Yonder  comes  a 
captain  of  the  guard  —  the  secret  is  our  own,  if  the  savage  has  killed  the 
Mitylenian,  as  I  well  trust,  for  he  stirs  neither  hand  nor  foot.  But  if  he 
lives,  my  comrades,  make  hard  your  faces  as  flints  —  he  is  but  one  man,  wo 
are  twelve.  We  know  nothing  of  his  purpose,  save  that  he  went  to  see 
wherefore  the  barbarian  slept  so  near  the  post.” 

While  the  centurion  thus  bruited  his  purpose  in  busy  insinuation  to  the 
companions  of  his  watch,  the  stately  figure  of  a  tall  soldier,  richly  armed, 
and  presenting  a  lofty  crest,  which  glistened  as  he  stept  from  the  open  moon¬ 
light  into  the  shade  of  the  vault,  became  visible  beneath.  A  whisper  passed 
among  the  warders  on  the  top  of  the  gate. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


81 


“  Draw  bolt,  shut  gate,  come  of  the  ^Mitylenian  what  will,’'  said  the  cen¬ 
turion  ;  “we  are  lost  men  if  we  own  him.  —  Here  comes  the  chief  of  the 
Varangian  axes,  the  Follower  himself.” 

“Well,  Ilereward,”  said  the  officer  who  came  last  upon  the  scene,  in  a 
sort  of  lingua  Franca,  generally  used  by  the  barbarians  of  the  guard,  “hast 
thou  caught  a  night-hawk?” 

“  Ay,  by  Saint  George  !”  answered  the  soldier ;  “  and  yet,  in  my  country, 
we  would  call  him  but  a  kite.” 

“What  is  he?”  said  the  leader. 

“  lie  will  tell  you  that  himself,”  replied  the  Varangian,  “when  I  take  my 
grasp  from  his  windpipe.” 

“  Let  him  go,  then,”  said  the  officer. 

The  Englishman  did  as  he  was  commanded ;  but,  escaping  as  soon  as  he 
felt  himself  at  liberty,  with  an  alertness  which  could  scarce  have  been  an¬ 
ticipated,  the  Mitylenian  rushed  out  at  the  arch,  and,  availing  himself  of 
the  complicated  ornaments  which  had  originally  graced  the  exterior  of  the 
gateway,  he  fled  around  buttress  and  projection,  closely  pursued  by  the 
Varangian,  who,  encumbered  with  his  armour,  was  hardly  a  match  in  tho 
course  for  the  light-footed  Grecian,  as  he  dodged  his  pursuer  from  one  skulk¬ 
ing  place  to  another.  The  officer  laughed  heartily,  as  the  two  figures,  like 
shadows  appearing  and  disappearing  as  suddenly,  held  rapid  flight  and 
chase  around  the  arch  of  Theodosius. 

“  By  Hercules  !  it  is  Hector  pursued  round  the  walls  of  Ilion  by  Achilles,” 
said  the  officer ;  “  but  my  Pelides  will  scarce  overtake  the  son  of  Priam. 
What,  ho  !  goddess-born — son  of  the  white-footed  Thetis  ! — But  the  allusion 
is  lost  on  the  poor  savage  —  Hollo,  Ilereward  !  I  say,  stop — know  thine  own 
most  barbarous  name.”  These  last  words  were  muttered  ;  then  raising  his 
voice,  “  Do  not  out-run  thy  wind,  good  Ilereward.  Thou  mayst  have  more 
occasion  for  breath  to-night.” 

“  If  it  had  been  my  leader’s  will,”  answered  the  Varangian,  coming  back 
in  sulky  mood,  and  breathing  like  one  who  had  been  at  the  top  of  his  speed, 
“  I  would  have  had  him  as  fast  as  ever  grey-hound  held  hare,  ere  I  left  ofif 
the  chase.  Were  it  not  for  this  foolish  armour,  which  encumbers  without 
defending  one,  I  would  not  have  made  two  bounds  without  taking  him  by 
the  throat.” 

“  As  well  as  it  is,”  said  the  officer,  who  was,  in  flict,  the  Acoulouthos,  or 
Follower,  so  called  because  it  was  the  duty  of  this  highly-trusted  officer  of 
the  Varangian  Guards  constantly  to  attend  on  the  person  of  the  Emperor. 
“  But  let  us  now  see  by  what  means  we  are  to  regain  our  entrance  through 
the  gate ;  for  if,  as  I  suspect,  it  was  one  of  those  warders  who  was  willing 
to  have  played  thee  a  trick,  his  companions  may  not  let  us  enter  willingly.” 

“And  is  it  not,”  said  the  Varangian,  “your  Valour’s  duty  to  probe  this 
want  of  discipline  to  the  bottom  ?” 

“Hush  thee  here,  my  simple-minded  savage!  I  have  often  told  you, 
most  ignorant  Ilereward,  that  the  skulls  of  those  who  come  from  your  cold 
and  muddy  Boeotia  of  the  North,  are  fitter  to  bear  out  twenty  blows  with  a 
sledge-hammer,  than  turn  ofi*  one  witty  or  ingenious  idea.  But  follow  me, 
Ilereward,  and  although  I  am  aware  that  showing  the  fine  meshes  of  Gre¬ 
cian  policy  to  the  coarse  eye  of  an  unpractised  barbarian  like  thee,  is  much 
like  casting  pearls  before  swine,  a  thing  forbidden  in  the  Blessed  Gospel, 
yet,  as  thou  hast  so  good  a  heart,  and  so  trusty,  as  is  scarce  to  be  met  with 
among  my  Varangians  themselves,  I  care  not  if,  while  thou  art  in  attendance 
on  my  person,  I  endeavour  to  indoctrinate  thee  in  some  of  that  policy  by 
which  I  myself — the  Follower — the  chief  of  the  Varangians,  and  therefore 
erected  by  their  axes  into  the  most  valiant  of  the  valiant,  am  content  to 
guide  myself,  although  every  way  qualified  to  bear  me  through  the  cross 
currents  of  the  court  by  main  pull  of  oar  and  press  of  sail — a  condescension 
in  me,  to  do  that  by  policy,  which  no  man  in  this  imperial  court,  the  chosen 


32 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


sphere  of  superior  wits,  could  so  well  accomplish  by  open  force  as  myself. 
What  think’st  thou,  good  savage  V’ 

“  I  know,^^  answered  the  Varangian,  who  walked  about  a  step  and  a  half 
behind  his  leader,  like  an  orderly  of  the  present  day  behind  his  ofl&cer^s 
shoulder,  “  I  should  be.  sorry  to  trouble  my  head  with  what  I  could  do  by 
my  hands  at  once/^ 

“  Did  I  not  say  so  V’  replied  the  Follower,  who  had  now  for  some  minutes 
led  the  way  from  the  Golden  Gate,  and  was  seen  gliding  along  the  outside 
of  the  moonlight  walls,  as  if  seeking  an  entrance  elsewhere.  “  Lo,  such  is 
the  stuff  of  what  you  call  your  head  is  made  !  Your  hands  and  arms  are 
perfect  Ahitophels,  compared  to  it.  Hearken  to  me,  thou  most  ignorant  of 
all  animals,  —  but,  for  that  very  reason,  thou  stoutest  of  confidants,  and 
bravest  of  soldiers, — I  will  tell  thee  the  very  riddle  of  this  night-work,  and 
yet,  even  then  I  doubt  if  thou  canst  understand  me.'^ 

“  It  is  my  present  duty  to  try  to  comprehend  your  Valour,'^  said  the  Va¬ 
rangian —  “  I  would  say  your  policy,  since  you  condescend  to  expound  it  to 
me.  As  for  your  valour,''  he  added,  “  I  should  be  unlucky  if  I  did  not 
think  I  understand  its  length  and  breadth  already." 

The  Greek  General  coloured  a  little,  but  replied,  with  unaltered  voice, 
“  True,  good  Ilereward.  We  have  seen  each  other  in  battle." 

Hereward  here  could  not  suppress  a  short  cough,  which  to  those  gramma¬ 
rians  of  the  day  who  were  skilful  in  applying  the  use  of  accents,  would  have 
implied  no  peculiar  eulogium  on  his  officer's  military  bravery.  Indeed, 
during  their  whole  intercourse,  the  conversation  of  the  General,  in  spite  of 
his  tone  of  affected  importance  and  superiority,  displayed  an  obvious  respect 
for  his  companion,  as  one  who,  in  many  points  of  action,  might,  if  brought 
to  the  test,  prove  a  more  effective  soldier  than  himself.  On  the  other  hand, 
wlien  the  powerful  Northern  warrior  replied,  although  it  was  with  all  ob¬ 
servance  of  discipline  and  duty,  yet  the  discussion  might  sometimes  re¬ 
semble  that  between  an  ignorant  macaroni  officer,  before  the  Duke  of  York's 
reformation  of  the  British  army,  and  a  steady  sergeant  of  the  regiment  in 
which  they  both  served.  There  was  a  consciousness  of  superiority,  dis¬ 
guised  by  external  respect,  and  half  admitted  by  the  leader. 

“  You  will  grant  me,  my  simple  friend,"  continued  the  chief,  in  the  same 
tone  as  before,  “  in  order  to  lead  thee  by  a  short  passage  into  the  deepest 
principle  of  policy  which  pervades  this  same  court  of  Constantinople,  that 
the  favour  of  the  Emperor"  —  (here  the  officer  raised  his  casque,  and  the 
soldier  made  a  semblance  of  doing  so  also)  —  “  who  (be  the  place  where  he 
puts  his  foot  sacred!)  is  the  vivifying  principle  of  the  sphere  in  which  wo 
live,  as  the  sun  itself  is  that  of  humanity" - 

“I  have  heard  something  like  this  said  by  our  tribunes,"  said  the  Va¬ 
rangian. 

“  It  is  their  duty  so  to  instruct  you,"  answered  the  leader  ;  “  and  I  trust 
that  the  priests  also,  in  their  sphere,  forget  not  to  teach  my  Varangians 
their  constant  service  to  their  Emperor." 

“  They  do  not  omit  it,"  replied  the  soldier,  “though  we  of  the  exiles  know 
our  duty." 

“  God  forbid  I  should  doubt  it,"  said  the  commander  of  the  battle-axes. 
“All  I  mean  is  to  make  thee  understand,  my  dear  Hereward,  that  as  there 
are,  though  perhaps  such  do  not  exist  in  thy  dark  and  gloomy  climate,  a 
race  of  insects  which  are  born  in  the  first  rays  of  the  morning,  and  expire 
with  those  of  sunset,  (thence  called  by  us  ephemerae,  as  enduring  one  day 
only,)  such  is  the  case  of  a  favourite  at  court,  while  enjoying  the  smiles  of 
the  most  sacred  Emperor.  And  happy  is  he  whose  favour,  rising  as  the 
person  of  the  sovereign  emerges  from  the  level  space  which  extends  around 
the  throne,  displays  itself  in  the  first  imperial  blaze  of  glory,  and  who, 
keeping  his  post  during  the  meridian  splendour  of  the  crown,  has  only  the 
fate  to  disappear  and  die  with  the  last  beam  of  imperial  brightness." 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


33 


“Your  ValouiV’  said  the  islander,  “speaks  higher  language  than  my 
Northern  wits  are  able  to  comprehend.  Only,  methinks,  rather  than  part 
with  life  at  the  sunset,  I  would,  since  insect  I  must  needs  be,  become  a  moth 
for  two  or  three  dark  hours,’^ 

“  Such  is  the  sordid  desire  of  the  vulgar,  Ilereward,^'  answered  the  Fol¬ 
lower,  with  assumed  superiority,  “  who  are  contented  to  enjoy  life,  lacking 
distinction  ;  whereas  we,  on  the  other  hand,  we  of  choicer  quality,  who  form 
the  nearest  and  innermost  circle  around  the  Imperial  Alexius,  in  which  he 
himself  forms  the  central  point,  are  watchful,  to  woman’s  jealousy,  of  tho 
distribution  of  his  favours,  and  omit  no  opportunity,  whether  by  leaguing 
with  or  against  each  other,  to  recommend  ourselves  individually  to  the  pe- 
liar  light  of  his  countenance.” 

“  I  think  I  comprehend  what  you  mean,”  said  the  guardsman  ;  “  although 
as  for  living  such  a  life  of  intrigue  —  but  that  matters  not.” 

“  It  does  indeed  matter  not,  my  good  Ilereward,”  said  his  officer,  “  and 
thou  art  lucky  in  having  no  appetite  for  the  life  I  have  described.  Yet  have 
I  seen  barbarians  rise  high  in  the  empire,  and  if  they  have  not  altogether 
the  flexibility,  the  malleability,  as  it  is  called  —  that  happy  ductility  which 
can  give  way  to  circumstances,  I  have  yet  known  those  of  barbaric  tribes, 
especially  if  bred  up  at  court  from  their  youth,  who  joined  to  a  limited  por¬ 
tion  of  this  flexile  quality  enough  of  a  certain  tough  durability  of  temper, 
which,  if  it  does  not  excel  in  availing  itself  of  opportunity,  has  no  con¬ 
temptible  talent  at  creating  it.  But  letting  comparisons  pass,  it  follows, 
from  this  emulation  of  glory,  that  is,  of  royal  favour,  amongst  the  servants 
of  the  imperial  and  most  sacred  court,  that  each  is  desirous  of  distinguish¬ 
ing  himself  by  showing  to  the  Emperor,  not  only  that  he  fully  understands 
the  duties  of  his  own  employments,  but  that  he  is  capable,  in  case  of  neces¬ 
sity,  of  discharging  those  of  others.” 

“  I  understand,”  said  the  Saxon  ;  “  and  thence  it  happens  that  the  under 
ministers,  soldiers,  and  assistants  of  the  great  crown-officers,  are  perpetually 
engaged,  not  in  aiding  each  other,  but  in  acting  as  spies  on  their  neigh¬ 
bours’  actions  ?” 

“  Even  so,”  answered  the  commander;  “  it  is  but  few  days  since  I  had  a 
disagreeable  instance  of  it.  Every  one,  however  dull  in  the  intellect,  hath 
understood  thus  much,  that  the  great  Prostospathaire,*  which  title  thou 
knowest  signifies  the  General-in-chief  of  the  forces  of  the  empire,  hath  me 
at  hatred,  because  I  am  the  leader  of  those  redoubtable  Varangians,  who 
enjoy  and  well  deserve,  privileges  exempting  them  from  the  absolute  com¬ 
mand  which  he  possesses  over  all  other  corps  of  the  army  —  an  authority 
which  becomes  Nicanor,  notwithstanding  the  victorious  sound  of  his  name, 
nearly  as  well  as  a  war-saddle  would  become  a  bullock.” 

“  IIow !”  said  the  Varangian,  “  does  the  Protospathaire  pretend  to  any 
authority  over  the  noble  exiles  ?  —  By  the  red  dragon,  under  which  we  will 
live  and  die,  we  will  obey  no  man  alive  but  Alexius  Comnenus  himself,  and 
our  own  officers !” 

“  Rightly  and  bravely  resolved,”  said  the  leader ;  “  but,  my  good  Ilere¬ 
ward,  let  not  your  just  indignation  hurry  you  so  far  as  to  name  the  most 
sacred  Emperor,  without  raising  your  hand  to  your  casque,  and  adding  the 
epithets  of  his  lofty  rank.” 

“  I  will  raise  my  hand  often  enough  and  high  enough,”  said  the  Norse¬ 
man,  “  when  the  Emperor’s  service  requires  it.” 

“  I  dare  be  sworn  thou  wilt,”  said  Achilles  Tatius,  the  commander  of  the 
Varangian  Imperial  Body  Guard,  who  thought  the  time  was  unfavourable 
for  distinguishing  himself  by  insisting  on  tliat  exact  observance  of  etiquette, 
which  was  one  of  his  great  pretensions  to  the  name  of  a  soldier.  “  Yet 
were  it  not  for  tho  constant  vigilance  of  your  leader,  my  child,  the  noble 


VoL.  XI r.  — 3 


Literally,  the  P'irst  Swordsman. 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


tv  1 

Varangians  would  be  trode  down,  in  the  common  mass  of  the  army,  with 
the  heathen  cohorts  of  Huns,  Scythians,  or  those  turban’d  infidels  the  rene¬ 
gade  Turks ;  and  even  for  this  is  your  commander  here  in  peril,  because  he 
vindicates  his  axe-men  as  worthy  of  being  prized  above  the  paltry  shafts  of 
the  Eastern  tribes  and  the  javelins  of  the  Moors,  which  are  only  fit  to  be 
playthings  for  children/’ 

“You  are  exposed  to  no  danger,”  said  the  soldier,  closing  up  to  Achilles 
in  a  confidential  manner,  “from  which  these  axes  can  protect  you.” 

“Do  I  not  know  it?”  said  Achilles.  “But  it  is  to  your  arms  alone  that 
the  Follower  of  his  most  sacred  Majesty  now  intrusts  his  safety.” 

“  In  aught  that  a  soldier  may  do,”  answered  Hereward  ;  “  make  your  ov.'n 
computation,  and  then  reckon  this  single  arm  worth  two  against  any  man 
the  Emperor  has,  not  being  of  our  own  corps.” 

“  Listen,  my  brave  friend,”  continued  Achilles.  “  This  Nicanor  was 
daring  enough  to  throw  a  reproach  on  our  noble  corps,  accusing  them — gods 
and  goddesses!  —  of  plundering  in  the  field,  and,  yet  more  sacrilegious,  of 
drinking  the  precious  wine  which  was  prepared  for  his  most  sacred  Majesty’s 
own  blessed  consumption.  I,  the  sacred  person  of  the  Emperor  being 
present,  proceeded,  as  thou  may’st  well  believe” - 

“  To  give  him  the  lie  in  his  audacious  throat!”  burst  in  the  Varangian — 
“  named  a  place  of  meeting  somewhere  in  the  vicinity,  and  called  the  attend¬ 
ance  of  your  poor  follower,  Hereward  of  Hampton,  w’ho  is  your  bond-slave 
for  life  long,  for  such  an  honour !  I  wish  only  you  had  told  me  to  get  my 

work-day  arms;  but,  however,  I  have  my  battle-axe,  and” - Here  his 

companion  seized  a  moment  to  break  in,  for  he  was  somewhat  abashed  at 
the  lively  tone  of  the  young  soldier. 

“  Hush  thee,  my  son,”  said  Achilles  Tatius ;  “  speak  low,  my  excellent 
Hereward.  Thou  mistakest  this  thing.  With  thee  by  my  side,  I  would 
not,  indeed,  hesitate  to  meet  five  such  as  Nicanor ;  but  such  is  not  the  law 
of  this  most  hallowed  empire,  nor  the  sentiments  of  the  three  times  illus¬ 
trious  Prince  who  now  rules  it.  Thou  art  debauched,  my  soldier,  with  the 
swaggering  stories  of  the  Franks,  of  whom  we  hear  more  and  more  every 
day.” 

“  I  would  not  willingly  borrow  any  thing  from  those  whom  you  call 
Franks,  and  we  Normans,”  answered  the  Varangian,  in  a  disappointed, 
dogged  tone. 

“  Why,  listen,  then,”  said  the  officer  as  they  proceeded  on  their  walk, 
“  listen  to  the  reason  of  the  thing,  and  consider  whether  such  a  custom  can 
obtain,  as  that  which  they  term  the  duello,  in  any  country  of  civilization 
and  common  sense,  to  say  nothing  of  one  which  is  blessed  with  the  domi¬ 
nation  of  the  most  rare  Alexius  Comnenus.  Two  great  lords,  or  high 
officers,  quarrel  in  the  court,  and  before  the  reverend  person  of  the  Emperor. 
They  dispute  about  a  point  of  fact.  Now,  instead  of  each  maintaining  his 
own  opinion  by  argument  or  evidence,  suppose  they  had  adopted  the  custom 
of  these  barbarous  Franks, — ‘Why,  thou  liest  in  thy  throat,”  says  the  one; 
‘  and  thou  liest  in  thy  very  lungs,’  says  another ;  and  they  measure  forth 
the  lists  of  battle  in  the  next  meadow.  Each  swears  to  the  truth  of  his 
quarrel,  though  probably  neither  well  knows  precisely  how  the  fact  stands. 
One,  perhaps  the  hardier,  truer,  and  better  man  of  the  two,  the  Follower  of 
the  Emperor,  and  father  of  the  Varangians,  (for  death,  my  faithful  follower, 
spares  no  man,)  lies  dead  on  the  ground,  and  the  other  comes  back  to  pre¬ 
dominate  in  the  court,  where,  had  the  matter  been  enquired  into  by  the 
rules  of  common  sense  and  reason,  the  victor,  as  he  is  termed,  would  have 
been  sent  to  the  gallows.  And  yet  this  is  the  law  of  arms,  as  your  fancy 
pleases  to  call  it,  friend  Hereward !” 

“May  it  please  your  Valour,”  answered  the  barbarian,  “  there  is  a  show 
of  sense  in  what  you  say  ;  but  you  will  sooner  convince  me  that  this  blessed 
moonlight  is  the  blackness  of  a  vrolf’s  mouth,  than  that  I  ought  to  hear 


COUNT  11  0  11  K  K  T  0  F  1'  A  RTS. 


r 

'jf) 


myself  called  liar,  without  cramming  the  epithet  down  the  speaker’s  throat 
with  the  spike  of  my  battle-axe.  The  lie  is  to  a  man  the  same  as  a  blow, 
and  a  blow  degrades  him  into  a  slave  and  a  beast  of  burden,  if  endured 
without  retaliation.” 

“  Ay,  there  it  is  !”  said  Achilles  ;  “  could  I  but  get  you  to  lay  aside  that 
inborn  barbarism,  which  leads  you,  otherwise  the  most  disciplined  soldiers 
who  serve  the  sacred  Emperor,  into  such  deadly  quarrels  and  feuds” - 

“  Sir  Captain,”  said  the  Varangian,  in  a  sullen  tone,  “  take  my  advice, 
and  take  the  Varangians  as  you  have  them;  for,  believe  my  word,  that  if 
you  could  teach  them  to  endure  reproaches,  bear  the  lie,  or  tolerate  stripes, 
you  would  hardly  find  them,  when  their  discipline  is  completed,  worth  the 
single  day’s  salt  which  they  cost  to  his  holiness,  if  that  be  his  title.  I  must 
tell  you,  moreover,  valorous  sir,  that  the  Varangians  will  little  thank  their 
leader,  who  heard  them  called  marauders,  drunkards,  and  what  not,  and 
repelled  not  the  charge  on  the  spot.” 

”  Now,  if  I  knew  not  the  humours  of  my  barbarians,”  thought  Tatius,  in 
his  own  mind,  “I  should  bring  on  myself  a  quarrel  with  these  untamed 
islanders,  who  the  Emperor  thinks  can  be  so  easily  kept  in  discipline.  But 
1  will  settle  this  sport  presently.”  Accordingly,  he  addressed  the  Saxon  in 
a  soothing  tone. 

“  My  faithful  soldier,”  he  proceeded  aloud,  “  we  Romans,  according  to 
the  custom  of  our  ancestors,  set  as  much  glory  on  actually  telling  the  truth, 
as  you  do  in  resenting  the  imputation  of  falsehood  ;  and  I  could  not  with 
honour  return  a  charge  of  falsehood  upon  Nicanor,  since  what  he  said  was 
substantially  true.” 

“AV’’hat!  that  we  Varangians  were  plunderers,  drunkards,  and  the  like?” 
said  Hereward,  more  impatient  than  before. 

“  No,  surely,  not  in  that  broad  sense,”  said  Achilles  ;  “but  there  was  too 
much  foundation  for  the  legend.” 

“When  and  where?”  asked  the  Anglo-Saxon. 

“  You  remember,”  replied  his  leader,  “  the  long  march  near  Laodicea, 
where  the  Varangians  beat  off  a  cloud  of  Turks,  and  retook  a  train  of  the 
imperial  baggage  ?  You  know  what  was  done  that  day — how  you  quenched 
your  thirst,  I  mean?” 

“  I  have  some  reason  to  remember  it,”  said  Hereward  of  Hampton  ;  “  for 
we  were  half  choked  with  dust,  fatigue,  and,  which  was  worst  of  all,  con¬ 
stantly  fighting  with  our  faces  to  the  rear,  when  we  found  some  firkins  of 
wine  in  certain  carriages  which  were  broken  down  —  down  our  throats  it 
went,  as  if  it  had  been  the  best  ale  in  Southampton.” 

“  Ah,  unhappy  !”  said  the  Follower  ;  “  saw  you  not  that  the  firkins  were 
stamped  with  the  thrice  excellent  Grand  Butler’s  own  inviolable  seal,  and 
set  apart  for  the  private  use  of  his  Imperial  Majesty’s  most  sacred  lips?” 

“  By  good  Saint  George  of  merry  England,  worth  a  dozen  of  your  Saint 
George  of  Cappadocia,  I  neither  thought  nor  cared  about  the  matter,”  an¬ 
swered  Hereward.  “And  I  know  your  Valour  drank  a  mighty  draught 
yourself  out  of  my  head-piece ;  not  this  silver  bauble,  but  my  steel-cap, 
which  is  twice  as  ample.  By  the  same  token,  that  whereas  before  you  were 
giving  orders  to  fall  back,  you  were  a  changed  man  when  you  had  cleared 
your  throat  of  the  dust,  and  cried,  ‘  Bide  the  other  brunt,  my  brave  and 
stout  boys  of  Britain  !’  ” 

“Ay,”  said  Achilles,  “  I  know  I  am  but  too  apt  to  be  venturous  in  action. 
But  you  mistake,  good  Hereward  ;  the  wine  I  tasted  in  the  extremity  of 
martial  fatigue,  was  not  that  set  apart  for  his  sacred  Majesty’s  own  peculiar 
mouth,  but  a  secondary  sort,  preserved  for  the  Grand  Butler  himself,  of 
which,  as  one  of  the  great  officers  of  the  household,  I  might  right  lawfully 
partake — the  chance  was  nevertheless  sinfully  unhapyjy.” 

“On  my  life,”  replied  Hereward,  “  I  cannot  see  the  infelicity  of  drinking 
when  we  are  dving  of  thirst.” 


WAVER  LEY  NOVELS. 


3G 

“But  cheer  up,  my  noble  comrade,”  said  Achilles,  after  he  had  hurried 
over  his  own  exculpation,  and  without  noticing  the  Varangian's  light  esti¬ 
mation  of  the  crime,  “  his  Imperial  Majesty,  in  his  ineffable  graciousness, 
imputes  these  ill-advised  draughts  as  a  crime  to  no  one  who  partook  of 
them.  He  rebuked  the  Protospathaire  for  fishing  up  this  accusation,  and 
said,  when  he  had  recalled  the  bustle  and  confusion  of  that  toilsome  day, 
‘  I  thought  myself  well  off  amid  that  seven  times  heated  furnace,  when  we 
obtained  a  draught  of  the  barley-wine  drank  by  my  poor  Varangians  ;  and 
I  drank  their  health,  as  well  I  might,  since,  had  it  not  been  for  their  ser¬ 
vices,  I  had  drunk  my  last ;  and  well  fare  their  hearts,  though  they  quaffed 
my  wine  in  return  !'  And  with  that  he  turned  off,  as  one  who  said,  ‘  1  have 
too  much  of  this,  being  a  finding  of  matter  and  ripping  up  of  stories  against 
Achilles  Tatius  and  his  gallant  Varangians.' '' 

“  Now,  may  God  bless  his  honest  heart  for  it !”  said  Hereward,  with  more 
downright  heartiness  than  formal  respect.  “  I'll  drink  to  his  health  in  what 
I  put  next  to  my  lips  that  quenches  thirst,  whether  it  may  be  ale,  wine,  or 
ditch-water.” 

“  Wliy,  well  said,  but  speak  not  above  thy  breath  !  and  remember  to  put 
thy  uaiiJ  to  thy  forehead,  when  naming,  or  even  thinking  of  the  Emperor ! 
— Well,  thou  knowest,  Hereward,  that  having  thus  obtained  the  advantage, 
I  knew  that  the  moment  of  a  repulsed  attack  is  always  that  of  a  successful 
charge ;  and  so  I  brought  against  the  Protospathaire,  Nicanor,  the  robberies 
which  have  been  committed  at  the  Golden  Gate,  and  other  entrances  of  the 
city,  where  a  merchant  was  but  of  late  kidnapped  and  murdered,  having  on 
him  certain  jewels,  the  property  of  the  Patriarch.” 

“Ay!  indeed?”  said  the  Varangian;  “and  what  said  Alex - 1  moan 

the  most  sacred  Emperor,  when  he  heard  such  things  said  of  the  city 
warders  ? — though  he  had  himself  given,  as  we  say  in  our  land,  the  fox  the 
geese  to  keep.” 

“  It  may  be  he  did,”  replied  Achilles ;  “  but  he  is  a  sovereign  of  deep 
policy,  and  was  resolved  not  to  proceed  against  these  treacherous  warders, 
or  their  general,  the  Protospathaire,  without  decisive  proof.  His  Sacred 
Majesty,  therefore,  charged  me  to  obtain  specific  circumstantial  proof  by 
thy  means.” 

“  And  that  I  would  have  managed  in  two  minutes,  had  you  not  called  me 
off  the  chase  of  yon  cut-throat  vagabond.  But  his  grace  knows  the  word  of 
a  Varangian,  and  I  can  assure  him  that  either  lucre  of  my  silver  gaberdine, 
which  they  nickname  a  cuirass,  or  the  hatred  of  my  corps,  would  be  suffi¬ 
cient  to  incite  any  of  these  knaves  to  cut  the  throat  of  a  Varangian,  who 
appeared  to  be  asleep. — So  we  go,  I  suppose,  captain,  to  bear  evidence  before 
the  Emperor  to  this  night’s  work  ?” 

“  No,  my  active  soldier,  hadst  thou  taken  the  runaway  villain,  my  first 
act  must  have  been  to  set  him  free  again ;  and  my  present  charge  to  you  is, 
to  forget  that  such  an  adventure  has  ever  taken  place.” 

“  Ha  1”  said  the  Varangian  ;  “  this  is  a  change  of  policy  indeed  1” 

“  Why,  yes,  brave  Hereward ;  ere  I  left  the  palace  this  night,  the  Patri¬ 
arch  made  overtures  of  reconciliation  betwixt  me  and  the  Protospathaire, 
which,  as  our  agreement  is  of  much  consequence  to  the  state,  I  could  not 
very  well  reject,  either  as  a  good  soldier  or  a  good  Christian.  All  oflences 
to  my  honour  are  to  be  in  the  fullest  degree  repaid,  for  which  the  Patriarch 
interposes  his  warrant.  The  Emperor,  who  will  rather  wink  hard  than  see 
disagreements,  loves  better  the  matter  should  be  slurred  over  thus.” 

“And  the  reproaches  upon  the  Varangians,”  said  Hereward - 

“  Shall  be  fully  retracted  and  atoned  for,”  answered  Achilles ;  “  and  a 
weighty  donative  in  gold  dealt  among  the  corps  of  the  Anglo-Danish  axe¬ 
men.  Thou,  my  Hereward,  ma^^st  be  distributor  ;  and  thus,  if  well-managed, 
mayst  plate  thy  battle-axe  with  gold.” 

“  I  love  my  axe  better  as  it  is,”  said  the  Varangian.  “My  father  bore  it 


COUNTROBERTOF  PARIS.  37 

0 

against  the  robber  Normans  at  Hastings.  Steel  instead  of  gold  for  ray 
money.’^ 

“  Thou  mayst  make  thy  choice,  Ilereward,”  answered  his  oflBcer ;  “  only, 
if  thou  art  poor,  say  the  fault  was  thine  own.^^ 

But  here,  in  the  course  of  their  circuit  round  Constantinople,  the  officer 
and  his  soldier  came  to  a  very  small  wicket  or  sallyport,  opening  on  the  in¬ 
terior  of  a  large  and  massive  advanced  work,  which  terminated  an  entrance 
to  the  city  itself.  Here  the  officer  halted,  and  made  his  obedience,  as  a 
devotee  who  is  about  to  enter  a  chapel  of  peculiar  sanctity. 


(Ctinpltr  tjit  '<EjiirL 

Here,  youth,  tliy  foot  unbrace, 

Here,  youth,  thy  brow  unl)raid ; 

Each  tribute  that  may  grace  ' 

Tile  threshold  here  be  paid. 

Walk  with  the  stealthy  pace  • 

Which  Nature  teaches  deer. 

When,  echoing  in  the  chase. 

The  hunter’s  horn  they  hear. 

The  Cocrt. 

Before  entering,  Achilles  Tatius  made  various  gesticulations,  which  were 
imitated  roughly  and  awkwardly  by  the  unpractised  Varangian,  whose 
service  with  his  corps  had  been  almost  entirely  in  the  field,  his  routine  of 
duty  not  having,  till  very  lately,  called  him  to  serve  as  one  of  the  garrison 
of  Constantinople.  He  was  not,  therefore,  acquainted  with  the  minute 
observances  which  the  Greeks,  who  were  the  most  formal  and  ceremonious 
soldiers  and  courtiers  in  the  world,  rendered  not  merely  to  the  Greek 
Emperor  in  person,  but  throughout  the  sphere  which  peculiarly  partook  of 
his  influence. 

Achilles,  having  gesticulated  after  his  own  fashion,  at  length  touched  the 
door  with  a  rap,  distinct  at  once  and  modest.  This  was  thrice  repeated, 
when  the  captain  whispered  to  his  attendant,  “  The  interior  ! — for  thy  life, 
do  as  thou  seest  me  do.^'  At  the  same  moment  he  started  back,  and,  stoop-  • 
ing  his  head  on  his  breast,  with  his  hands  over  his  eyes,  as  if  to  save  them 
from  being  dazzled  by  an  expected  burst  of  light,  awaited  the  answer  to 
his  summons.  The  Anglo-Dane,  desirous  to  obey  his  leader,  imitating  him 
as  near  as  he  could,  stood  side  by  side  in  the  posture  of  Oriental  humilia¬ 
tion.  The  little  portal  opened  inwards,  when  no  burst  of  light  was  seen, 
but  four  of  the  Varangians  were  made  visible  in  the  entrance,  holding  each 
his  battle-axe,  as  if  about  to  strike  down  the  intruders  who  had  disturbed 
the  silence  of  their  watch. 

“  Acoulouthos,^^  said,  the  leader,  by  way  of  password. 

“  Tatius  and  Acoulouthos,^'  murmured  the  warders,  as  a  countersign. 

Each  sentinel  sunk  his  weapon. 

Achilles  then  reared  his  stately  crest,  with  a  conscious  dignity  at  making 
this  display  of  court  influence  in  the  eyes  of  his  soldiers.  Hereward  ob¬ 
served  an  undisturbed  gravity,  to  the  surprise  of  his  officer,  who  marvelled 
in  his  own  mind  how  he  could  be  such  a  barbarian  as  to  regard  with  apathy 
a  scene,  which  had  in  his  eyes  the  most  impressive  and  peculiar  awe.  This 
indifference  he  imputed  to  the  stupid  insensibility  of  his  companion.  ^ 

They  passed  on  between  the  sentinels,  who  wheeled  backward  in  file,  on 

D 


38 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


each  side  of  the  portal,  and  gave  the  strangers  entrance  to  a  long  narrow 
plank,  stretched  across  the  city-moat,  which  was  here  drawn  within  the 
enclosure  of  an  external  rampart,  projecting  beyond  the  principal  wall  of 
the  city. 

“  This,’^  he  whispered  to  Ilereward,  “  is  called  the  Bridge  of  Peril,  and 
it  is  said  that  it  has  been  occasionally  smeared  with  oil,  or  strewed  with 
dried  peas,  and  that  the  bodies  of  men,  known  to  have  been  in  company 
with  the  Emperor’s  most  sacred  person,  have  been  taken  out  of  the  Golden 
Horn,*  into  which  the  moat  empties  itself.” 

“  I  would  not  have  thought,”  said  the  islander,  raising  his  voice  to  its 
usual  rough  tone,  “  that  Alexius  Comnenus” - 

“  Hush,  rash  and  regardless  of  your  life !”  said  Achilles  Tatius ;  “  to 
awaken  the  daughter  of  the  imperial  arch,f  is  to  incur  deep  penalty  at  all 
times ;  but  when  a  rash  delinquent  has  disturbed  her  with  reflections  on 
his  most  sacred  Highness  the  Emperor,  death  is  a  punishment  far  too  light 
for  the  effrontery  which  has  interrupted  her  blessed  slumber !  —  Ill  hath 
been  my  fate,  to  have  positive  commands  laid  on  me,  enjoining  me  to  bring 
into  the  sacred  precincts  a  creature  who  hath  no  more  of  the  salt  Of  civil¬ 
ization  in  him  than  to  keep  his  mortal  frame  from  corruption,  since  of  all 
mental  culture  he  is  totally  incapable.  Consider  thyself,  Hereward,  and 
bethink  thee  what  thou  art.  By  nature  a  poor  barbarian  —  thy  best  boast 
that  thou  hast  slain  certain  Mussulmans  in  thy  sacred  master’s  quarrel ; 
anti  here  art  thou  admitted  into  the  inviolable  enclosure  of  the  Blaquernal, 
and  in  the  hearing  not  only  of  the  royal  daughter  of  the  imperial  arch, 
w'hich  means,”  said  the  eloquent  leader,  “  the  echo  of  the  sublime  vaults ; 
but  —  Heaven  be  our  guide,  —  for  what  I  know,  within  the  natural  hearing 
of  the  Sacred  Ear  itself!” 

“  Well,  my  captain,”  replied  the  Varangian,  “  I  cannot  presume  to  speak 
my  mind  after  the  fashion  of  this  place ;  but  I  can  easily  suppose  I  am  but 
ill  qualified  to  converse  in  the  presence  of  the  court,  nor  do  I  mean  there¬ 
fore  to  say  a  word  till  I  am  spoken  to,  unless  when  I  shall  see  no  better 
company  than  ourselves.  To  be  plain,  I  find  difficulty  in  modelling  my 
voice  to  a  smoother  tone  than  nature  has  given  it.  So,  henceforth,  my 
brave  captain,  I  will  be  mute,  unless  when  you  give  me  a  sign  to  speak.” 

“  You  will  act  wisely,”  said  the  captain.  “  Here  be  certain  persons  of 
high  rank,  nay,  some  that  have  been  born  in  the  purple  itself,  that  will, 
Hereward,  (alas,  for  thee!)  prepare  to  sound  with  the  line  of  their  courtly 
understanding  the  depths  of  thy  barbarous  and  shallow  conceit.  Do  not, 
therefore,  then,  join  their  graceful  smiles  with  thy  inhuman  bursts  of 
«  cachinnation,  with  which  thou  art  wont  to  thunder  forth  when  opening  in 
chorus  with  thy  messmates.” 

“I  tell  thee  I  will  be  silent,”  said  the  Varangian,  moved  somewhat 
beyond  his  mood.  “If  you  trust  my  word,  so ;  if  you  think  I  am  a  jack¬ 
daw  that  must  be  speaking,  whether  in  or  out  of  place  and  purpose,  I  am 
contented  to  go  back  again,  and  therein  we  can  end  the  matter.” 

Achilles,  conscious  perhaps  that  it  was  his  best  policy  not  to  drive  his 
subaltern  to  extremity,  lowered  his  tone  somewhat  in  reply  to  the  uncourtly 
note  of  the  soldier,  as  if  allowing  something  for  the  rude  manners  of  one 
whom  he  considered  as  not  easily  matched  among  the  Varangians  them¬ 
selves,  for  strength  and  valour ;  qualities  which,  in  despite  of  Hereward’a 
discourtesy,  Achilles  suspected  in  his  heart  were  fully  more  valuable  than 
all  those  nameless  graces  which  a  more  courtly  and  accomplished  soldier 
might  possess. 

The  expert  navigator  of  the  intricacies  of  the  imperial  residence,  carried 
the  Varangian  through  two  or  three  small  complicated  courts,  forming  a 

*  The  harbour  of  Constantinople. 

t  The  dauKhter  of  the  arch  was  a  courtly  expre.ssion  for  the  echo,  as  we  find  explained  by  the  courtly 
coinniander  himself. 

i 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


39 


part  of  the  extensive  Palace  of  the  Blaquernal,*  and  entered  the  building 
itself  by  a  side  door  —  watched  in  like  manner  by  a  sentinel  of  the  Varan¬ 
gian  Guard,  whom  they  passed  on  being  recognized.  In  the  next  apart¬ 
ment  was  stationed  the  Court  of  Guard,  where  were  certain  soldiers  of  the 
same  corps  amusing  themselves  at  games  somewhat  resembling  the  modern 
draughts  and  dice,  while  they  seasoned  their  pastime  with  frequent  appli¬ 
cations  to  deep  flagons  of  ale,  which  were  furnished  to  them  while  passing 
away  their  hours  of  duty.  Some  glances  passed  between  Ilereward  and 
his  comrades,  and  he  would  have  joined  them,  or  at  least  spoke  to  them  ; 
for,  since  the  adventure  of  the  Mitylenian,  Ilereward  had  rather  thought 
himself  annoyed  than  distinguished  by  his  moonlight  ramble  in  the  com¬ 
pany  of  his  commander,  excepting  always  the  short  and  interesting  period 
during  which  he  conceived  they  were  on  the  way  to  fight  a  duel.  Still, 
however  negligent  in  the  strict  observance  of  the  ceremonies  of  the  sacred 
palace,  the  Varangians  had,  in  their  own  way,  rigid  notions  of  calculating 
their  military  duty ;  in  consequence  of  which  Ilereward,  without  speaking 
to  his  companions,  followed  his  leader  through  the  guard-room,  and  one  or 
two  antechambers  adjacent,  the  splendid  and  luxurious  furniture  of*  which 
convinced  him  that  he  could  be  nowhere  else  save  in  the  sacred  residence 
of  his  master  the  Emperor. 

At  length,  having  traversed  passages  and  apartments  with  which  the 
captain  seemed  familiar,  and  which  he  threaded  with  a  stealthy,  silent,  and 
apparently  reverential  pace,  as  if,  in  his  own  inflated  phrase,  afraid  to 
awaken  the  sounding  echoes  of  those  lofty  and  monumental  halls,  another 
species  of  inhabitants  began  to  be  visible.  In  different  entrances,  and  in 
different  apartments,  the  northern  soldier  beheld  those  unfortunate  slaves, 
chiefly  of  African  descent,  raised  occasionally  under  the  Emperors  of  Greece 
to  great  power  and  honours,  who,  in  that  respect,  imitated  one  of  the  most 
barbarous  points  of  Oriental  despotism.  These  slaves  were  differently  occu¬ 
pied  ;  some  standing,  as  if  on  guard,  at  gates  or  in  passages,  with  thfeir 
drawn  sabres  in  their  hands ;  some  were  sitting  in  the  Oriental  fashion,  on 
carpets,  reposing  themselves,  or  playing  at  various  games,  all  of  a  character 
profoundly  silent.  Not  a  word  passed  between  the  guide  of  Ilereward,  and 
the  withered  and  deformed  beings  Avhom  they  thus  encountered.  The  ex¬ 
change  of  a  glance  with  the  principal  soldier  seemed  all  that  was  necessary 
to  ensure  both  an  uninterrupted  passage. 

After  making  their  way  through  several  apartments,  empty  or  thus  occu¬ 
pied,  they  at  length  entered  one  of  black  marble,  or  some  other  dark- 
coloured  stone,  much  loftier  and  longer  than  the  rest.  Side  passages  opened 
into  it,  so  far  as  the  islander  could  discern,  descending  from  several  portals 
in  the  wall ;  but  as  the  oils  and  gums  with  which  the  lamps  in  these  pas¬ 
sages  were  fed  diffused  a  dim  vapour  around,  it  was  difficult  to  ascertain, 
from  the  imperfect  light,  either  the  shape  of  the  hall,  or  the  style  of  its 
architecture.  At  the  upper  and  lower  ends  of  the  chamber,  there  was  a 
stronger  and  clearer  light.  It  was  when  they  were  in  the  middle  of  this 
huge  and  long  apartment,  that  Achilles  said  to  the  soldier,  in  the  sort  of 
cautionary  whisper  which  he  appeared  to  have  substituted  in  place  of  his 
natural  voice  since  he  had  crossed  the  Bridge  of  Peril  — 

“  Remain  here  till  I  return,  and  stir  from  this  hall  on  no  account.’^ 

“  To  hear  is  to  obey,’’  answered  the  Varangian,  an  expression  of  obe¬ 
dience,  which,  like  many  other  phrases  and  fashions,  the  empire,  which 
still  affected  the  name  of  Roman,  had  borrowed  from  the  barbarians  of  the 
East.  Achilles  Tatius  then  hastened  up  the  steps  which  led  to  one  of  the 
side-doors  of  the  hall,  which  being  slightly  pressed,  its  noiseless  hinge  gave 
way  and  admitted  him. 

Left  alone  to  amuse  himself  as  he  best  could,  within  the  limits  permitted 
to  him,  the  Varangian  visited  in  succession  both  ends  of  the  hall,  where  the 

•  Thi.s  palace  derived  its  name  from  Uie  neig:hb<)unng  Blarhernian  Gate  and  Bridg^e. 


40 


WAVEELEY  NOVELS. 


objects  were  more  visible  than  elsewhere.  The  lower  end  had  in  its  centre 
a  small  low-browed  door  of  iron.  Over  it  was  displayed  the  Greek  crucifix 
in  bronze,  and  around  and  on  every  side,  the  representation  of  shackles, 
fetter-bolts,  and  the  like,  were  also  executed  in  bronze,  and  disposed  as  ap¬ 
propriate  ornaments  over  the  entrance.  The  door  of  the  dark  archway  was 
half  open,  and  Hereward  naturally  looked  in,  the  orders  of  his  chief  not 
prohibiting  his  satisfying  his  curiosity  thus  far.  A  dense  red  light,  more 
like  a  distant  spark  than  a  lamp,  affixed  to  the  wall  of  what  seemed  a  very 
narrow  and  winding  stair,  resembling  in  shape  and  size  a  draw-well,  the 
verge  of  which  opened  on  the  threshold  of  the  iron  door,  showed  a  descent 
which  seemed  to  conduct  to  the  infernal  regions.  The  Varangian,  however 
obtuse  he  might  be  considered  by  the  quick-witted  Greeks,  had  no  difficulty 
in  comprehending  that  a  staircase  having  such  a  gloomy  appearance,  and 
the  access  to  which  was  by  a  portal  decorated  in  such  a  melancholy  style 
of  architecture,  could  only  lead  to  the  dungeons  of  the  imperial  palace,  the 
size  and  complicated  number  of  which  were  neither  the  least  remarkable, 
nor  the  least  awe-imposing  portion  of  the  sacred  edifice.  Listening  pro¬ 
foundly,  he  even  thought  he  caught  such  accents  as  befit  those  graves  of 
living  men,  the  faint  echoing  of  groans  and  sighs,  sounding  as  it  were  from 
the  deep  abyss  beneath.  But  in  this  respect  his  fancy  probably  filled  up 
the  sketch  which  his  conjectures  bodied  out. 

“  I  have  done  nothing,^^  he  thought,  “  to  merit  being  immured  in  one  of 
these  subterranean  dens.  Surely  though  my  captain,  Achilles  Tatius,  is, 
under  favour,  little  better  than  an  ass,  he  cannot  be  so  false  of  word  as  to 
train  me  to  prison  under  false  pretexts  ?  I  trow  he  shall  first  see  for  the 
last  time  how  the  English  axe  plays,  if  such  is  to  be  the  sport  of  the 
evening.  But  let  us  see  the  upper  end  of  this  enormous  vault ;  it  may  bear 
a  better  omen.^^ 

Thus  thinking,  and  not  quite  ruling  the  tramp  of  his  armed  footstep  ac¬ 
cording  to  the  ceremonies  of  the  place,  the  large-limbed  Saxon  strode  to  the 
upper  end  of  the  black  marble  hall.  The  ornament  of  the  portal  here  was 
a  small  altar,  like  those  in  the  temples  of  the  heathen  deities,  which  pro¬ 
jected  above  the  centre  of  the  arch.  On  this  altar  smoked  incense  of  some 
sort,  the  fumes  of  which  rose  curling  in  a  thin  cloud  to  the  roof,  and  thence 
extending  through  the  hall,  enveloped  in  its  column  of  smoke  a  singular 
emblem,  of  which  the  Varangian  could  make  nothing.  It  was  the  repre¬ 
sentation  of  two  human  arms  and  hands,  seeming  to  issue  from  the  wall, 
having  the  palms  extended  and  open,  as  about  to  confer  some  boon  on  those 
who  approached  the  altar.  These  arms  were  formed  of  bronze,  and  being 
placed  farther  back  than  the  altar  with  its  incense,  were  seen  through  the 
curling  smoke  by  lamps  so  disposed  as  to  illuminate  the  whole  archway. 
“  The  meaning  of  this,^^  thought  the  simple  barbarian,  “  I  should  well  know 
how  to  explain,  were  these  fists  clenched,  and  were  the  hall  dedicated  to 
the  pancration,  which  we  call  boxing ;  but  as  even  these  helpless  Greeks 
use  not  their  hands  without  their  fingers  being  closed,  by  St.  George  I  can 
make  out  nothing  of  their  meaning.^^ 

At  this  instant  Achilles  entered  the  black  marble  hall  at  the  same  door 
by  which  he  had  left  it,  and  came  up  to  his  neophyte,  as  the  Varangian 
might  be  termed. 

“  Come  with  me  now,  Hereward,  for  here  approaches  the  thick  of  the 
onset.  Now,  display  the  utmost  courage  that  thou  canst  summon  up,  for 
believe  me  thy  credit  and  name  also  depend  on  it.'’ 

“  Fear  nothing  for  either,"  said  Hereward,  “  if  the  heart  or  hand  of  one 
man  can  bear  him  through  the  adventure  by  the  help  of  a  toy  like  this." 

“  Keep  thy  voice  low  and  submissive,  I  have  told  thee  a  score  of  times," 
said  the  leader,  “  and  lower  thine  axe,  which,  as  I  bethink  me,  thou  hadst 
better  leave  in  the  outer  apartment." 

“With  your  leave,  noble  captain,"  replied  Hereward,  “I  am  unwilling 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


41 


to  lay  aside  my  bread-winner.  I  am  one  of  those  awkward  clowns  who 
cannot  behave  seemly  unless  I  have  something  to  occupy  my  hands,  and 
my  faithful  battle-axe  comes  most  natural  to  me.’’ 

“  Keep  it  then  ;  but  remember  thou  dash  it  not  about  according  to  thy 
custom,  nor  bellow,  nor  shout,  nor  cry  as  in  a  battle-field ;  think  of  the 
sacred  character  of  the  place,  which  exaggerates  riot  into  blasphemy,  and 
remember  the  persons  whom  thou  mayst  chance  to  see,  an  offence  to  some 
of  whom,  it  may  be,  ranks  in  the  same  sense  with  blasphemy  against  Heaven 
itself.” 

This  lecture  carried  the  tutor  and  the  pupil  so  far  as  to  the  side-door,  and 
thence  inducted  them  into  a  species  of  anteroom,  from  which  Achilles  led 
his  Varangian  forward,  until  a  pair  of  folding-doors,  opening  into  what 
proved  to  be  a  principal  apartment  of  the  palace,  exhibited  to  the  rough- 
hewn  native  of  the  north  a  sight  equally  new  and  surprising. 

It  was  an  apartment  of  the  palace  of  the  Blaquernal,  dedicated  to  the 
special  service  of  the  beloved  daughter  of  the  Emperor  Alexius,  the  Princess 
Anna  Comnena,  known  to  our  times  by  her  literary  talents,  which  record 
the  history  of  her  father’s  reign.  She  was  seated,  the  queen  and  sovereign 
of  a  literary  circle,  such  as  an  imperial  Princess,  porphyrogenita,  or  born 
in  the  sacred  purple  chamber  itself,  could  assemble  in  those  days,  and  a 
glance  around  will  enable  us  to  form  an  idea  of  her  guests  or  companions. 

The  literary  Princess  herself  had  the  bright  eyes,  straight  features,  and 
comely  and  pleasing  manners,  which  all  would  have  allowed  to  the  Emperor’s 
daughter,  even  if  she  could  not  have  been,  with  severe  truth,  said  to  have 
possessed  them.  She  was  placed  upon  a  small  bench,  or  sofa,  the  fair  sex 
here  not  being  permitted  to  recline,  as  was  the  fashion  of  the  Roman  ladies. 
A  table  before  her  was  loaded  with  books,  plants,  herbs,  and  drawings. 
She  sat  on  a  slight  elevation,  and  those  who  enjoyed  the  intimacy  of  the 
Princess,  or  to  whom  she  wished  to  speak  in  particular,  were  allowed, 
during  such  sublime  colloquy,  to  rest  their  knees  on  the  little  dais,  or  ele¬ 
vated  place  where  her  chair  found  its  station,  in  a  posture  half  standing, 
half  kneeling.  Three  other  seats,  of  diff'erent  heights,  were  placed  on  the 
dais,  and  under  the  sqme  canopy  of  state  which  overshadowed  that  of  the 
Princess  Anna. 

The  first,  which  strictly  resembled  her  own  chair  in  size  and  convenience, 
was  one  designed  for  her  husband,  Nicephorus  Briennius.  lie  was  said  to 
entertain  or  affect  the  greatest  respect  for  his  wife’s  erudition,  though  the 
courtiers  were  of  opinion  he  would  have  liked  to  absent  himself  from 
her  evening  parties  more  frequently  than  was  particularly  agreeable  to  the 
Princess  Anna  and  her  imperial  parents.  This  was  partly  explained  by  the 
private  tattle  of  the  court,  which  averred,  that  the  Princess  Anna  Comnena 
had  been  more  beautiful  when  she  was  less  learned ;  and  that,  though  still 
a  fine  woman,  she  had  somewhat  lost  the  charms  of  her  person  as  she  became 
enriched  in  her  mind. 

To  atone  for  the  lowly  fashion  of  the  seat  of  Nicephorus  Briennius,  it 
was  placed  as  near  to  his  princess  as  it  could  possibly  be  edged  by  the  ushers, 
so  that  she  might  not  lose  one  look  of  her  handsome  spouse,  nor  he  the 
least  particle  of  wisdom  which  might  drop  from  the  lips  of  his  erudite 
consort. 

Two  other  seats  of  honour,  or  rather  thrones, — for  they  had  footstools 
placed  for  the  support  of  the  feet,  rests  for  the  arms,  and  embroidered  pil¬ 
lows  for  the  comfort  of  the  back,  not  to  mention  the  glories  of  the  outspread¬ 
ing  canopy,  were  destined  for  the  imperial  couple,  who  frequently  attended 
their  daughter’s  studies,  which  she  prosecuted  in  public  in  the  way  we  have 
intimated.  On  such  occasions,  the  Empress  Irene  enjoyed  the  triumph^ 
peculiar  to  the  mother  of  an  accomplished  daughter,  while  Alexius,  as  it 
might  happen,  sometimes  listened  with  complacence  to  the  rehearsal  of  his 
own  exploits  in  the  inflated  language  of  the  Wincess,  and  sometimes  mildly 


42 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


nodded  over  her  dialogues  upon  the  mysteries  of  philosophy,  with  the  Patri¬ 
arch  Zosimus,  and  other  sages. 

All  these  four  distinguished  seats  for  the  persons  of  the  Imperial  family, 
were  occupied  at  the  moment  which  we  have  described,  excepting  that  whi(‘.h 
ought  to  have  been  filled  by  Nicephorus  Briennius,  the  husband  of  the  fair 
Anna  Comnena.  To  his  negligence  and  absence  was  perhaps  owing  the 
angry  spot  on  the  brow  of  his  fair  bride.  Beside  her  on  the  platform  were 
two  white-robed  nymphs  of  her  household  ;  female  slaves,  in  a  word,  who 
reposed  themselves  on  their  knees  on  cushions,  when  their  assistance  was 
not  wanted  as  a  species  of  living  book-desks,  to  support  and  extend  the 
parchment  rolls,  in  which  the  Princess  recorded  her  own  wisdom,  or  from 
which  she  quoted  that  of  others.  One  of  these  young  maidens,  called 
Astarte,  was  so  distinguished  as  a  calligrapher,  or  beautiful  writer  of  various 
alphabets  and  languages,  that  she  narrowly  escaped  being  sent  as  a  present 
to  the  Caliph,  (who  could  neither  read  nor  write,)  at  a  time  when  it  "was 
necessary  to  bribe  him  into  peace.  Violante,  usually  called  the  Muse,  the 
other  attendant  of  the  Princess,  a  mistress  of  the  vocal  and  instrumental 
art  of  music,  was  actually  sent  in  a  compliment  to  soothe  the  temper  of 
Robert  Guiscard,  the  Archduke  of  Apulia,  who  being  aged  and  stone-deaf, 
and  the  girl  under  ten  years  old  at  the  time,  returned  the  valued  present  to 
the  imperial  donor,  and,  with  the  selfishness  which  was  one  of  that  wily 
Norman’s  characteristics,  desired  to  have  some  one  sent  him  who  could  con¬ 
tribute  to  his  pleasure,  instead  of  a  twangling  squalling  infant. 

Beneath  these  elevated  seats  there  sat,  or  reposed  on  the  floor  of  the  hall, 
such  favourites  as  were  admitted.  The  Patriarch  Zosimus,  and  one  or  two 
old  men,  were  permitted  the  use  of  certain  lowly  stools,  which  were  the  only 
seats  prepared  for  the  learned  members  of  the  Princess’s  evening  parties, 
as  they  would  have  been  called  in  our  days.  As  for  fhe  younger  magnates, 
the  honour  of  being  permitted  to  join  the  imperial  conversation  was  expected 
to  render  them  far  superior  to  the  paltry  accommodation  of  a  joint-stool. 
Five  or  six  courtiers,  of  different  dress  and  ages,  might  compose  the  party, 
who  either  stood,  or  relieved  their  posture  by  kneeling,  along  the  verge  of 
an  adorned  fountain,  which  shed  a  mist  of  such  very  small  rain  as  to  dispel 
almost  insensibly,  cooling  the  fragrant  breeze  which  breathed  from  the 
flowers  and  shrubs,  that  were  so  disposed  as  to  send  a  waste  of  sweets 
around.  One  goodly  old  man,  named  Michael  Agelastes,  big,  burly,  and 
dressed  like  an  ancient  Cynic  philosopher,  was  distinguished  by  assuming, 
in  a  great  measure,  the  ragged  garb  and  mad  bearing  of  that  sect,  and  by 
his  inflexible  practice  of  the  strictest  ceremonies  exigible  by  the  Imperial 
family.  He  was  known  by  an  affectation  of  cynical  principle  and  lan¬ 
guage,  and  of  republican  philosophy,  strangely  contradicted  by  his  prac¬ 
tical  deference  to  the  great.  It  was  wonderful  how  long  this  man,  now 
sixty  years  old  and  upwards,  disdained  to  avail  himself  of  the  accustomed 
privilege  of  leaning,  or  supporting  his  limbs,  and  with  what  regularity  he 
maintained  either  the  standing  posture  or  that  of  absolute  kneeling ;  but 
the  first  was  so  much  his  usual  attitude,  that  he  acquired  among  his  court 
friends  the  name  of  Elephas,  or  the  Elephant,  because  the  ancients  had  an 
idea  that  the  half-reasoning  animal,  as  it  is  called,  has  joints  incapable  of 
kneeling  down. 

“Yet  I  have  seen  them  kneel  when  I  was  in  the  country  of  the  Gymno- 
sophists,”  said  a  person  present  on  the  evening  of  Hereward’s  intro¬ 
duction.  •• 

“  To  take  up  their  master  on  their  shoulders  ?  so  will  ours,”  said  the 
Patriarch  Zosimus,  with  the  slight  sneer  which  was  the  nearest  advance  to 
a  sarcasm  tha,t  the  etiquette  of  the  Greek  court  permitted ;  for  on  all  ordi¬ 
nary  occasions,  it  w'ould  not  have  offended  the  Presence  more  surely,  lite¬ 
rally,  to  have  drawn  a  poniard,  than  to  exchange  a  repartee  in  the  impe¬ 
rial  on  do.  Even  the  sarcasm,  suqli  as  it  was,  would  have  been  thought 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS.  43 

censurable  by  that  ceremonious. court  in  any  but  the  Patriarch,  to  whose 
high  rank  some  license  was  allowed. 

dust  as  he  had  thus  far  offended  decorum,  Achilles  Tatius,  and  his  soldier 
Ilereward,  entered  the  apartment.  The  former  bore  him  with  even  more 
than  his  usual  degree  of  courtliness,  as  if  to  set  his  own  good-breeding  off 
by  a  comparison  with  the  inexpert  bearing  of  his  follower ;  while,  never¬ 
theless,  he  had  a  secret  pride  in  exhibiting,  as  one  under  his  own  immediate 
and  distinct  command,  a  man  whom  he  was  accustomed  to  consider  as  one 
of  the  finest  soldiers  of  the  army  of  Alexius,  whether  appearance  or  reality 
w’ere  to  be  considered. 

Some  astonishment  followed  the  abrupt  entrance  of  the  new  comers. 
Achilles  indeed  glided  into  the  presence  with  the  easy  and  quiet  extremity 
of  respect  wdiich  intimated  his  habitude  in  these  regions.  But  Ilereward 
started  on  his  entrance,  and  perceiving  himself  in  company  of  the  court, 
hastily  strove  to  remedy  his  disorder.  Ilis  commander,  throwing  round  a 
scarce  visible  shrug  of  apology,  made  then  a  confidential  and  monitory  sign 
to  llerew’ard  to  mind  his  conduct.  What  he  meant  was,  that  he  should 
doff  his  helmet  and  fall  prostrate  on  the  ground.  But  the  Anglo-Saxon, 
unaccustomed  to  interpret  obscure  inferences,  naturally  thought  of  his  mili¬ 
tary  duties,  and  advanced  in  front  of  the  Emperor,  as  when  he  rendered  his 
military  homage.  lie  made  reverence  with  his  knee,  half  touched  his  cap, 
and  then  recovering  and  shouldering  his  axe,  stood  in  advance  of  the  impe¬ 
rial  chair,  as  if  on  duty  as  a  sentinel. 

A  gentle  smile  of  surprise  went  round  the  circle  as  they  gazed  on  the 
manly  appearance,  and  somewhat  unceremonious  but  martial  deportment 
of  the  northern  soldier.  The  various  spectators  around  consulted  the  Empe¬ 
ror’s  face,  not  knowing  whether  they  were  to  take  the  intrusive  manner  of 
the  Varangian’s  entrance  as  matter  of  ill-breeding,  and  manifest  their 
horror,  or  whether  they  ought  rather  to  consider  the  bearing  of  the  life- 
guardsman  as  indicating  blunt  and  manly  zeal,  and  therefore  to  be  received 
with  applause. 

It  w^as  some  little  time  ere  the  Emperor  recovered  himself  sufficiently  to 
strike  a  key-note,  as  was  usual  upon  such  occasions.  Alexius  Comnenus 
had  been  wrapt  for  a  moment  Into  some  species  of  slumber,  or  at  least 
absence  of  mind.  Out  of  this  he  had  been  startled  by  the  sudden  appear¬ 
ance  of  the  V  arangian ;  for  though  he  was  accustomed  to  commit  the  outer 
guards  of  the  palace  to  this  trusty  corps,  yet  the  deformed  blacks  w'hom  w^e 
have  mentioned,  and  who  sometimes  rose  to  be  ministers  of  state  and  com¬ 
manders  of  armies,  were,  on  all  ordinary  occasions,  intrusted  with  the  guard 
of  the  interior  of  the  palace.  Alexius,  therefore,  awakened  from  his  slumber, 
and  the  military  phrase  of  his  daughter  still  ringing  in  his  ears  as  she  was 
reading  a  description  of  the  great  historical  work,  in  which  she  had  detailed 
the  conflicts  of  his  reign,  felt  somewhat  unprepared  for  the  entrance  and 
military  deportment  of  one  of  the  Saxon  guard,  with  whom  he  was  accus¬ 
tomed  to  associate,  in  general,  scenes  of  blows,  danger,  and  death. 

After  a  troubled  glance  around,  his  look  rested  on  Achilles  Tatius.  “Why 
here,”  he  said,  “trusty  Follower?  why  this  soldier  here  at  this  time  of 
night?”  Here,  of  course,  was  the  moment  for  modelling  the  visages  regis 
ad  exemplum ;  but,  ere  the  Patriarch  could  frame  his  countenance  into 
devout  apprehension  of  danger,  Achilles  Tatius  had  spoken  a  word  or  two, 
which  reminded  Alexius’  memory  that  the  soldier  had  beeti  brought  there 
by  his  own  special  orders.  “  Oh,  ay !  true,  good  fellow,”  said  he,  smooth¬ 
ing  his  troubled  brow ;  “  we  had  forgot  that  passage  among  the  cares  of 
state.”  lie  then  spoke  to  the  Varangian  with  a  countenance  more  frank, 
and  a  heartier  accent  than  he  used  to  his  courtiers ;  for,  to  a  despotic 
monarch,  a  faithful  life-guardsman  is  a  person  of  confidence,  while  an 
officer  of  high  rank  is  always  in  some  degree  a  subject  of  distrust.  “  Ila !” 
said  he,  “  our  worthy  Anglo-I)ane,  how  fares  he  ?”  —  This  unceremonious 


44 


WAVER  LEY  NOVELS. 


salutation  surprised  all  but  him  to  whom  it  was  addressed.  Hereward  an¬ 
swered,  accompanying  his  words  with  a  military  obeisance  which  partook 
of  heartiness  rather  than  reverence,  with  a  loud  unsubdued  voice,  which 
startled  the  presence  still  more  that  the  language  was  Saxon,  which  these 
foreigners  occasionally  used,  “  JVaes  liael  Kaisar  mirrig  und  maehtighl” — 
that  is.  Be  of  good  health,  stout  and  mighty  Emperor.  The  Emperor,  with 
a  smile  of  intelligence,  to  show  he  could  speak  to  his  guards  in  their  own 
foreign  language,  replied,  by  the  well-known  counter-signal  —  “  Drink 
hael!” 

Immediately  a  page  brought  a  silver  goblet  of  wine.  The  Emperor  put 
his  lips  to  it,  though  he  scarce  tasted  the  liquor,  then  commanded  it  to  be 
handed  to  Hereward,  and  bade  the  soldier  drink.  The  Saxon  did  not  wait 
till  he  was  desired  a  second  time,  but  took  off  the  contents  without  hesita¬ 
tion.  A  gentle  smile,  decorous  as  the  presence  required,  passed  over  the 
assembly,  at  a  feat  which,  though  by  no  means  wonderful  in  a  hyperborean, 
seemed  prodigious  in  the  estimation  of  the  moderate  Greeks.  Alexius  him¬ 
self  laughed  more  loudly  than  his  courtiers  thought  might  be  becoming  on 
their  part,  and  mustering  what  few  words  of  Varangian  he  possessed,  which 
he  eked  out  with  Greek,  demanded  of  his  life-guardsman — “Well,  my  bold 
Briton,  or  Edward,  as  men  call  thee,  dost  thou  know  the  flavour  of  that 
wine  V’ 

“Yes,’’  answered  the  Varangian,  without  change  of  countenance,  “I 
tasted  it  once  before  at  Laodicea” - 

Here  his  officer,  Achilles  Tatius,  became  sensible  that  his  soldier  ap¬ 
proached  delicate  ground,  and  in  vain  endeavoured  to  gain  his  attention,  m 
order  that  he  might  furtively  convey  to  him  a  hint  to  be  silent,  or  at  least 
take  heed  what  he  said  in  such  a  presence.  But  the  soldier,  who,  with 
proper  military  observance,  continued  to  have  his  eye  and  attention  fixed  on 
the  Emperor,  as  the  prince  whom  he  was  bound  to  answer  or  to  serve,  saw 
none  of  the  hints,  which  Achilles  at  length  suffered  to  become  so  broad, 
that  Zosimus  and  the  Protospathaire  exchanged  expressive  glances,  as  call¬ 
ing  on  each  other  to  notice  the  by-play  of  the  leader  of  the  Varangians. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  dialogue  between  the  Emperor  and  his  soldier  con¬ 
tinued: — “How,”  said  Alexius,  “did  this  draught  relish  compared  with  the 
former?” 

“  There  is  fairer  company  here,  my  liege,  than  that  of  the  Arabian 
archers,”  answered  Hereward,  with  a  look  and  bow  of  instinctive  good- 
breeding  ;  “  Nevertheless,  there  lacks  the  flavour  which  the  heat  of  the 
sun,  the  dust  of  the  combat,  with  the  fatigue  of  wielding  such  a  weapon  as 
this”  (advancing  his  axe)  “  for  eight  hours  together,  give  to  a  cup  of  rare 
wine.” 

“  Another  deficiency  there  might  be,”  said  Agelastes  the  Elephant,  “pro¬ 
vided  I  am  pardoned  hinting  at  it,”  he  added,  with  a  look  to  the  throne, — 
“  it  might  be  the  smaller  size  of  the  cup  compared  with  that  at  Laodicea.” 

“  By  Taranis,  you  say  true,”  answered  the  life-guardsman  ;  “  at  Laodicea 
I  used  my  helmet.” 

“  Let  us  see  the  cups  compared  together,  good  friend,”  said  Agelastes, 
continuing  his  raillery,  “  that  we  may  be  sure  thou  hast  not  swallowed  the 
present  goblet;  for  I  thought,  from  the  manner  of  the  draught,  there  was  a 
chance  of  its  going  down  with  its  contents.” 

“  There  are  some  things  which  I  do  not  easily  swallow,”  answered  the 
Varangian,  in  a  calm  and  indifierent  tone ;  “but  they  must  come  from  a 
younger  and  more  active  man  than  you.” 

The  company  again  smiled  to  each  other,  as  if  to  hint  that  the  philoso¬ 
pher,  though  also  parcel  wit  by  profession,  had  the  worst  of  the  encounter. 

The  Emporor  at  the  same  time  interfered  —  “  Nor  did  I  send  for  thee 
hither,  good  fellow,  to  be  baited  by  idle  taunts.” 

Here  Agelastes  shrunk  back  in  ,the  circle,  as  a  hound  that  has  been  re- 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


45 


ljuked  by  the  huntsman  for  babbling  —  and  the  Princess  Anna  Comnena,  • 
who  had  indicated  by  her  fair  features  a  certain  degree  of  impatience,  at 
length  spoke  —  “  Will  it  then  please  you,  my  imperial  and  much-beloved 
father,  to  inform  those  blessed  with  admission  to  the  Muses’  temple,  for 
what  it  is  that  you  have  ordered  this  soldier  to  be  this  night  admitted  to  a 
place  so  far  above  his  rank  in  life?  Permit  me  to  say,  we  ought  not  to 
waste,  in  frivolous  and  silly  jests,  the  time  which  is  sacred  to  the  welfare 
of  the  empire,  as  every  moment  of  your  leisure  must  be.” 

“Our  daughter  speaks  wisely,”  said  the  Empress  Irene,  who,  like  most 
mothers  who  do  not  possess  much  talent  themselves,  and  are  not  very  capable 
of  estimating  it  in  others,  was,  nevertheless,  a  great  admirer  of  her  favourite 
daughter’s  accomplishments,  and  ready  to  draw  them  out  on  all  occasions. 

“  Permit  me  to  remark,  that  in  this  divine  and  selected  palace  of  the  Muses, 
dedicated  to  the  studies  of  our  well-beloved  and  highly-gifted  daughter, 
whoso  pen  will  preserve  your  reputation,  our  most  imperial  husband,  till 
the  desolation  of  the  universe,  and  which  enlivens  and  delights  this  society, 
the  very  flower  of  the  wits  of  our  sublime  court;  —  permit  me  to  say,  that 
we  have,  merely  by  admitting  a  single  life-guardsman,  given  our  conversa¬ 
tion  the  character  of  that  which  distinguishes  a  barrack.” 

Now  the  Emperor  Alexius  Comnenus  had  the  same  feeling  with  many 
an  honest  man  in  ordinary  life  when  his  wife  begins  a  long  oration, 
especially  as  the  Empress  Irene  did  not  always  retain  the  observance  con¬ 
sistent  with  his  awful  rule  and  right  supremacy,  although  especially  severe 
in  exacting  it  from  all  others,  in  reference  to  her  lord.  Therefore,  though 
he  had  felt  some  pleasure  in  gaining  a  short  release  from  the  monotonous 
recitation  of  the  Princess’s  history,  he  now  saw  the  necessity  of  resuming 
it,  or  of  listening  to  the  matrimonial  eloquence  of  the  Empress,  lie 
sighed,  therefore,  as  he  said,  V I  crave  your  pardon,  good  our  imperial 
spouse,  and  our  daughter  born  in  the  purple  chamber.  I  remember  me, 
our  most  amiable  and  accomplished  daughter,  that  last  night  you  wished  to 
know  the  particulars  of  the  battle  of  Laodicea,  with  the  heathenish  Arabs, 
whom  Heaven  confound.  And  for  certain  considerations  which  moved  our¬ 
selves  to  add  other  enquiries  to  our  own  recollection,  Achilles  Tatius,  our 
most'trusty  Follower,  was  commissioned  to  introduce  into  this  place  one  of 
t-liose  soldiers  under  his  command,  being  such  a  one  whose  courage  and 
presence  of  mind  could  best  enable  him  to  remark  what  passed  around  him 
on  that  remarkable  and  bloody  day.  And  this  I  suppose  to  be  the  man 
brought  to  us  for  that  purpose.” 

“If  1  am  permitted  to  speak,  and  live,”  answered  the  Follower,  “your 
Imperial  Highness,  with  those  divine  Princesses,  whose  name  is  to  us  as 
those  of  blessed  saints,  have  in  your  presence  the  flower  of  my  Anglo- 
Danes,  or  whatsoever  unbaptized  name  is  given  to  my  soldiers.  He  is,  as  I 
may  say,  a  barbarian  of  barbarians ;  for,  although  in  birth  and  breeding 
unfit  to  soil  with  his  feet  the  carpet  of  this  precinct  of  accomplishment  and 
eloquence,  he  is  so  brave — so  trusty — so  devotedly  attached — and  so  unhesi¬ 
tatingly  zealous,  that” - 

“  Enough,  good  Follower,”  said  the  Emperor ;  “  let  us  only  know  that 
he  is  cool  and  observant,  not  confused  and  fluttered  during  close  battle,  as 
we  have  sometimes  observed  in  you  and  other  great  commanders  —  and,  to 
speak  truth,  have  even  felt  in  our  imperial  self  on  extraordinary  occasions. 
Which  difference  in  man’s  constitution  is  not  owing  to  any  inferiority  of 
courage,  but,  in  us,  to  a  certain  consciousness  of  the  importance  of  our  own 
safety  to  the  welfare  of  the  whole,  and  to  a  feeling  of  the  number  of  duties 
which  at  once  devolve  on  us.  Speak  then,  and  speak  quickly,  Tatius  ;  for 
I  discern  that  our  dearest  consort,  and  our  thrice  fortunate  daughter  born 
in  the  imperial  chamber  of  purple,  seem  to  wax  somewhat  impatient.” 

“  Hereward,”  answered  Tatius,  “  is  as  composed  and  observant  in  battle, 
as  another  in  a  festive  dance.  The  dust  of  war  is  the  breath  of  his  nostrils  ; 


46 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


and  he  will  prove  his  worth  in  combat  against  any  four  others,  (Varangians 
excepted,)  who  shall  term  themselves  your  Imperial  Highness’s  bravest 
servants.” 

“Follower,”  said  the  Emperor,  with  a  displeased  look  and  tone,  “instead 
of  instructing  these  poor,  ignorant  barbarians  in  the  rules  and  civilization 
of  our  enlightened  empire,  you  foster,  by  such  boastful  words,  the  idle 
pride  and  fury  of  their  temper,  which  hurries  them  into  brawls  with  the 
legions  of  other  foreign  countries,  and  even  breeds  quarrels  among  them¬ 
selves.” 

“  If  my  mouth  may  be  opened  in  the  way  of  most  humble  excuse,”  said 
the  Follower,  “  I  would  presume  to  reply,  that  I  but  an  hour  hence  talked 
with  this  poor  ignorant  Anglo-Dane,  on  the  paternal  care  with  which  the 
Imperial  Majesty  of  Greece  regards  the  preservation  of  that  concord  which 
unites  the  followers  of  his  standard,  and  how  desirous  he  is  to  promote  that 
harmony,  more  especially  amongst  the  various  nations  who  have  the  happi¬ 
ness  to  serve  you,  in  spite  of  the  bloodthirsty  quarrels  of  the  Franks,  and 
other  northern  men,  who  are  never  free  from  civil  broil.  I  think  the  poor 
youth’s  understanding  can  bear  witness  to  this  much  in  my  behalf.”  He 
then  looked  towards  Ilereward,  who  gravely  inclined  his  head  in  token  of 
assent  to  M^hat  his  captain  said.  His  excuse  thus  ratified,  Achilles  pro¬ 
ceeded  in  his  apology  more  firmly.  “  What  I  have  said  even  now  was 
spoken  without  consideration  ;  for,  instead  of  pretending  that  this  Ilere¬ 
ward  would  face  four  of  your  Imperial  Highness’s  servants,  I  ought  to  have 
said,  that  he  was  willing  to  defy  six  of  your  Imperial  Majesty’s  most  deadly 
enemies,  and  permit  them  to  choose  every  circumstance  of  time,  arms,  and 
place  of  combat.” 

“  That  hath  a  better  sound,”  said  the  Emperor ;  “  and  in  truth,  for  the 
information  of  my  dearest  daughter,  who  piously  has  undertaken  to  record 
the  things  which  I  have  been  the  blessed  means  of  doing  for  the  Empire,  I 
earnestly  wish  that  she  should  remember,  that  though  the  sword  of  Alexius 
hath  not  slept  in  its  sheath,  yet  he  hath  never  sought  his  own  aggrandize¬ 
ment  of  fame  at  the  price  of  bloodshed  among  his  subjects.” 

“I  trust,”  said  Anna  Comnena,  “that  in  my  humble  sketch  of  the  life 
of  the  princely  sire  from  whom  I  derive  my  existence,  I  have  not  forgot  to 
notice  his  love  of  peace,  and  care  for  the  lives  of  his  soldiery,  and  abhor¬ 
rence  of  the  bloody  manners  of  the  heretic  Franks,  as  one  of  his  most  dis¬ 
tinguishing  characteristics.” 

Assuming  then  an  attitude  more  commanding,  as  one  who  was  about  to 
claim  the  attention  of  the  company,  the  Princess  inclined  her  head  gently 
around  to  the  audience,  and  taking  a  roll  of  parchment  from  the  fair 
amanuensis,  which  she  had,  in  a  most  beautiful  handwriting,  engrossed  to 
her  mistress’s  dictation,  Anna  Comnena  prepared  to  read  its  contents. 

At  this  moment,  the  eyes  of  the  Princess  rested  for  an  instant  on  the 
barbarian  Ilereward,  to  whom  she  deigned  this  greeting — “Valiant  bar¬ 
barian,  of  whom  my  fancy  recalls  some  memory,  as  if  in  a  dream,  thou 
art  now  to  hear  a  work,  which,  if  the  author  be  put  into  comparison  with 
the  subject,  might  be  likened  to  a  portrait  of  Alexander,  in  executing 
which,  some  inferior  dauber  has  usurped  the  pencil  of  Apelles  ;  but  which 
essay,  however  it  may  appear  unworthy  of  the  subject  in  the  eyes  of  many, 
must  yet  command  some  envy  in  those  who  candidly  consider  its  contents, 
and  the  difficulty  of  portraying  the  great  personage  concerning  whom  it  is 
written.  Still,  I  pray  thee,  give  thine  attention  to  what  I  have  now  to 
read,  since  this  account  of  the  battle  of  Laodicea,  the  details  thereof  being 
principally  derived  from  his  Imperial  Highness,  my  excellent  father,  from 
the  altogether  valiant  Protospathaire,  his  invincible  general,  together  with 
Achilles  Tatius,  the  faithful  Follower  of  our  victorious  Emperor,  may 
nevertheless  be  in  some  circumstances  inaccurate.  For  it  is  to  be  thought, 
that  the  high  offices  of  those  greal:  commanders  retained  them  at  a  distance 


COUNT  K  0  B  E  K  T  OF  PARIS. 


47 


from  some  particularly  active  parts  of  the  fray,  in  order  that  they  might 
have  more  cool  and  accurate  opportunity  to  form  a  judgment  upon  the 
whole,  and  transmit  their  orders,  without  being  disturbed  by  any  thoughts 
of  personal  safety.  Even  so,  brave  barbarian,  in  the  art  of  embroidery, 
(marvel  not  that  we  are  a  proficient  in  that  mechanical  process,  since  it  is 
patronized  by  Minerva,  whose  studies  we  affect  to  follow,)  we  reserve  to 
ourselves  the  superintendence  of  the  entire  web,  and  commit  to  our  maidens 
and  others  the  execution  of  particular  parts.  Thus,  in  the  same  manner, 
thou,  valiant  Varangian,  being  engaged  in  the  very  thickest  of  the  affray 
before  Laodicea,  mayst  point  out  to  us,  the  unworthy  historian  of  so  re¬ 
nowned  a  war,  those  chances  which  befell  where  men  fought  hand  to  hand, 
and  where  the  fate  of  war  was  decided  by  the  edge  of  the  sword.  There¬ 
fore,  dread  not,  thou  bravest  of  the  axe-men  to  whom  we  owe  that  victory, 
and  so  many  others,  to  correct  any  mistake  or  misapprehension  which  we 
may  have  been  led  into  concerning  the  details  of  that  glorious  event.’^ 

“Madam,’’  said  the  Varangian,  “I  shall  attend  with  diligence  to  what 
your  Highness  may  be  pleased  to  read  to  me ;  although,  as  to  presuming  to 
blame  the  history  of  a  Princess  born  in  the  purple,  far  be  such  a  presump¬ 
tion  from  me;  still  less  would  it  become  a  barbaric  Varangian  to  pass  a 
judgment  on  the  military  conduct  of  the  Emperor,  by  whom  he  is  liberally 
paid,  or  of  the  commander,  by  whom  he  is  well  treated.  Before  an  action, 
if  our  advice  is  required,  it  is  ever  faithfully  tendered  ;  hut  according  to 
my  rough  wit,  our  censure  after  the  field  is  fought  would  be  more  invidious 
than  useful.  Touching  the  Protospathaire,  if  it  be  the  duty  of  a  general  to 
absent  himself  from  close  action,  I  can  safely  say,  or  swear,  were  it  neces¬ 
sary,  that  the  invincible  commander  was  never  seen  by  me  within  a  javelin’s 
cast  of  aught  that  looked  like  danger.” 

This  speech,  boldly  and  bluntly  delivered,  had  a  general  effect  on  the 
company  present.  The  Emperor  himself,  and  Achilles  Tatius,  looked  like 
men  who  had  got  off  from  a  danger  better  than  they  expected.  The  Pro¬ 
tospathaire  laboured  to  conceal  a  movement  of  resentment.  Agelastes 
whispered  to  the  Patriarch,  near  M-hom  he  was  placed,  “  The  northern 
battle-axe  lacks  neither  point  nor  edge.” 

“  Hush!”  said  Zosimus,  “let  us  hear  how  this  is  to  end;  the  Princess  is 
about  to  speak.” 


■  Cjiajittr  tljj  /Durtli. 

We  heard  the  Tecbir,  so  these  Arabs  call 
Their  shout  of  onset,  when  with  loud  acclaim 
They  challenged  Heaven,  as  if  deniaiuling  conquest. 

The  battle  join’d,  and  through  the  barb’rous  herd, 

Fight,  fight !  and  Paradise  was  all  their  cry. 

The  Siege  of  Damascus. 

The  voice  of  the  northern  soldier,  although  modified  by  feelings  of  respect' 
to  the  Emperor,  and  even  attachment  to  his  captain,  had  more  of  a  tone  of 
blunt  sincerity,  nevertheless,  than  was  usually  heard  by  the  sacred  echoes 
of  the  imperial  palace  ;  and  though  the  Princess  Anna  Comnena  began  to 
think  that  she  had  invoked  the  opinion  of  a  severe  judge,  she  was  sensible, 
at  the  same  time,  by  the  deference  of  his  manner,  that  his  respect  was  of  a 
character  more  real,  and  his  applause,  should  she  gain  it,  would  prove  more 
truly  flattering,  than  the  gilded  assent  of  the  whole  court  of  her  father. 
She  gazed  with  some  surprise  and  attention  on  Ilereward,  already  descrilied 
as  a  very  handsome  young  man,  and  felt  the  natural  desire  to  please,  whicli 


48 


W  A  V  E  R  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 


is  easily  created  in  the  mind  towards  a  fine  person  of  the  other  sex.  His 
attitude  was  easy  and  bold,  but  neither  clownish  nor  uncourtly.  His  title 
of  a  barbarian,  placed  him  at  once  free  from  the  forms  of  civilized  life,  and 
the  rules  of  artificial  politeness.  But  his  character  for  valour,  and  the  noble 
self-confidence  of  his  bearing,  gave  him  a  deeper  interest  than  would  have 
been  acquired  by  a  more  studied  and  anxious  address,  or  an  excess  of  reve¬ 
rential  awe. 

In  short,  the  Princess  Anna  Comnena,  high  in  rank  as  she  was,  and  born 
in  the  imperial  purple,  which  she  herself  deemed  the  first  of  all  attributes, 
felt  herself,  nevertheless,  in  preparing  to  resume  the  recitation  of  her  history, 
more  anxious  to  obtain  the  approbation  of  this  rude  soldier,  than  that  of 
all  the  rest  of  the  courteous  audience.  She  knew  them  well,  it  is  true,  and 
felt  nowise  solicitous  about  the  applause  which  the  daughter  of  the  Emperor 
was  sure  to  receive  with  full  hands  from  those  of  the  Grecian  court  to  whom 
she  might  choose  to  communicate  the  productions  of  her  father’s  daughter. 
But  she  had  now  a  judge  of  a  new  character,  whose  applause,  if  bestowed, 
must  have  something  in  it  intrinsically  real,  since  it  could  only  be  obtained 
by  affecting  his  head  or  his  heart. 

It  was  perhaps  under  the  influence  of  these  feelings,  that  the  Princess 
was  somewhat  longer  than  usual  in  finding  out  the  passage  in  the  roll  of 
history  at  which  she  purposed  to  commence.  It  was  also  noticed,  that  she 
began  her  recitation  with  a  dif&dence  and  embarrassment  surprising  to  the 
noble  hearers,  who  had  often  seen  her  in  full  possession  of  her  presence  of 
mind  before  what  they  conceived  a  more  distinguished,  and  even  more  criti¬ 
cal  audience. 

Neither  were  the  circumstances  of  the  Varangian  such  as  rendered  the 
scene  indifferent  to  him.  Anna  Comnena  had  indeed  attained  her  fifth 
lustre,  and  that  is  a  period  after  which  Grecian  beauty  is  understood  to  com¬ 
mence  its  decline.  How  long  she  had  passed  that  critical  period,  was  a 
secret  to  all  but  the  trusted  ward-women  of  the  purple  chamber.  Enough, 
that  it  was  afiirmed  by  the  popular  tongue,  and  seemed  to  be  attested  by 
that  bent  towards  philosophy  and  literature,  which  is  not  supposed  to  be 
congenial  to  beauty  in  its  earlier  buds,  to  amount  to  one  or  two  years  more. 
She  might  be  seven-and-twenty. 

Still  Anna  Comnena  was,  or  had  very  lately  been,  a  beauty  of  the  very 
first  rank,  and  must  be  supposed  to  have  still  retained  charms  to  captivate 
a  barbarian  of  the  north ;  if,  indeed,  he  himself  was  not  careful  to  maintain 
an  heedful  recollection  of  the  immeasurable  distance  between  them.  Indeed, 
even  this  recollection  might  hardly  have  saved  Hereward  from  the  charms 
of  this  enchantress,  bold,  free-born,  and  fearless  as  he  was ;  for,  during  that 
time  of  strange  revolutions,  there  were  many  instances  of  successful  gene¬ 
rals  sharing  the  couch  of  imperial  princesses,  whom  perhaps  they  had  them¬ 
selves  rendered  widows,  in  order  to  make  way  for  their  own  pretensions. 
But,  besides  the  influence  of  other  recollections,  which  the  reader  may  learn 
hereafter,  Hereward,  though  flattered  by  the  unusual  degree  of  attention 
which  the  Princess  bestowed  upon  him,  saw  in  her  only  the  daughter  of  his 
Emperor  and  adopted  liege  lord,  and  the  wife  of  a  noble  prince,  whom  reason 
and  duty  alike  forbade  him  to  think  of  in  any  other  light. 

It  was  after  one  or  two  preliminary  efforts  that  tho  Princess  Anna  began 
her  reading,  with  an  uncertain  voice,  which  gained  strength  and  fortitude 
as  she  proceeded  with  the  following  passage  from  a  well-known  part  of  her 
history  of  Alexius  Comnenus,  but  which  unfortunately  has  not  been  repub¬ 
lished  in  the  Byzantine  historians.  The  narrative  cannot,  therefore,  be 
otherwise  than  acceptable  to  the  antiquarian  reader ;  and  the  author  hopes 
to  receive  the  thanks  of  the  learned  world  for  the  recovery  of  a  curious  frag¬ 
ment,  which,  without  his  exertions,  must  probably  have  passed  to  the  gulf 
of  total  oblivion. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


VJ 


5rt)c  3Evettcat  of  Haotifcra. 

NOW  FIRST  PUBLISHED  FROM  THE  GREEK  OP  THE  PRINCESS  COMNENA’s  HISTORY 

OF  HER  FATHER. 

“  Tue  sun  had  betaken  himself  to  his  bed  in  the  ocean,  ashamed,  it  would 
seem,  to  see  the  immortal  army  of  our  most  sacred  Emperor  Alexius  sur¬ 
rounded  by  those  barbarous  hordes  of  unbelieving  barbarians,  who,  as 
described  in  our  last  chapter,  had  occupied  the  various  passes  both  in  front 
and  rear  of  the  Romans,*  secured  during  the  preceding  night  by  the  wily 
barbarians.  Although,  therefore,  a  triumphant  course  of  advance  had 
brought  us  to  this  point,  it  now  became  a  serious  and  doubtful  question 
whether  our  victorious  eagles  might  be  able  to  penetrate  any  farther  into 
the  country  of  the  enemy,  or  even  to  retreat  with  safety  into  their  own. 

“The  extensive  acquaintance  of  the  Emperor  with  military  affairs,  in 
which  he  exceeds  most  living  princes,  had  induced  him,  on  the  preceding 
evening,  to  ascertain,  with  marvellous  exactitude  and  foresight,  the  precise 

f)08ition  of  the  enemy.  In  this  most  necessary  service  he  employed  certain 
ight-armed  barbarians,  whose  habits  and  discipline  had  been  originally 
derived  from  the  wilds  of  Syria ;  and,  if  I  am  required  to  speak  according 
to  the  dictation  of  Truth,  seeing  she  ought  always  to  sit  upon  the  pen  of  a 
historian,  I  must  needs  say  they  were  infidels  like  their  enemies;  faithfully 
attached,  however,  to  the  Roman  service,  and,  as  I  believe,  true  slaves  of 
the  Emperor,  to  whom  they  communicated  the  information  required  by  him 
respecting  the  position  of  his  dreaded  opponent  Jezdegerd.  These  men  did 
not  bring  in  their  information  till  long  after  the  hour  when  the  Emperor 
usually  betook  himself  to  rest. 

“  Notwithstanding  this  derangement  of  his  most  sacred  time,  our  impe¬ 
rial  father,  who  had  postponed  the  ceremony  of  disrobing,  so  important 
were  the  necessities  of  the  moment,  continued,  until  deep  in  the  night,  to 
hold  a  council  of  his  wisest  chiefs,  men  whose  depth  of  judgment  might 
have  saved  a  sinking  world,  and  who  now  consulted  what  was  to  be  done 
under  the  pressure  of  the  circumstances  in  which  they  were  now  placed. 
And  so  great  was  the  urgency,  that  all  ordinary  observances  of  the  house¬ 
hold  were  set  aside,  since  I  have  heard  from  those  who  witnessed  the  fact, 
that  the  royal  bed  was  displayed  in  the  very  room  where  the  council  assem¬ 
bled,  and  that  the  sacred  lamp,  called  the  Light  of  the  Council,  and  which 
always  burns  when  the  Emperor  presides  in  person  over  the  deliberations 
of  his  servants,  was  for  that  night  —  a  thing  unknown  in  our  annals  —  fed 
with  unperfumed  oil ! 

The  fair  speaker  here  threw  her  fine  form  into  an  attitude  which  expressed 
holy  horror,  and  the  hearers  intimated  their  sympathy  in  the  exciting  cause 
by  corresponding  signs  of  interest ;  as  to  which  we  need  only  say,  that  the 
sigh  of  Achilles  Tatius  was  the  most  pathetic  ;  while  the  groan  of  Agelastes 
the  Elephant  was  deepest  and  most  tremendously  bestial  in  its  sound.  Ilere- 
ward  seemed  little  moved,  except  by  a  slight  motion  of  surprise  at  the 
wonder  expressed  by  the  others.  The  Princess,  having  allowed  due  time 
for  the  sympathy  of  her  hearers  to  exhibit  itself,  proceeded  as  follows : — 

“  In  this  melancholy  situation,  when  even  the  best-established  and  most 
sacred  rites  of  the  imperial  household  gave  way  to  the  necessity  of  a  hasty 
provision  for  the  morrow,  th,e  opinions  of  the  counsellors  were  different, 
according  to  their  tempers  and  habits ;  a  thing,  by  the  way,  which  may  be 
remarked  as  likely  to  happen  among  the  best  and  wisest  on  such  occasions 
of  doubt  and  danger. 

“  I  do  not  in  this  place  put  down  the  names  and  opinions  of  those  whoso 
counsels  were  proposed  and  rejected,  herein  paying  respect  to  the  secrecy 

♦  More  properly  termed  the  Greeks ;  but  we  follow  the  phraseology  of  the  fair  authoress. 

VoL.  XII.  — 4  .E 


50 


W  A  V  E  R  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 


and  freedom  of  de1:)ate  justly  attached  to  the  imperial  cabinet.  Enono:h  it 
is  to  say,  that  some  there  were  who  advised  a  speedy  attack  upon  the  enemy, 
in  the  dii’ection  of  our  original  advance.  Others  thought  it  was  safer,  and 
might  be  easier,  to  force  our  way  to  the  rear,  and  retreat  b}’’  the  same  course 
which  had  brought  us  hither ;  nor  must  it  be  concealed,  that  there  wore 
persons  of  unsuspected  fidelity,  who  proposed  a  third  course,  safer  indeed 
than  the  others,  but  totally  alien  to  the  mind  of  our  most  magnanimous 
father.  They  recommended  that  a  confidential  slave,  in  company  with  a 
minister  of  the  interior  of  our  imperial  palace,  should  be  sent  to  the  tent  of 
Jezdegerd,  in  order  to  ascertain  upon  what  terms  the  barbarian  would 
permit  our  triumphant  father  to  retreat  in  safety  at  the  head  of  his  victo¬ 
rious  army.  On  learning  such  opinion,  our  imperial  father  was  heard  to 
exclaim,  ‘  Sancta  Sophia!’^  being  the  nearest  approach  to  an  adjuration 
which  he  has  been  known  to  permit  himself,  and  was  apparently  about  to 
say  something  violent  both  concerning  the  dishonour  of  the  advice,  and  the 
cowardice  of  those  by  whom  it  was  preferred,  when,  recollecting  the  muta¬ 
bility  of  human  things,  and  the  misfortune  of  several  of  his  Majesty’s 
gracious  predecessors,  some  of  whom  had  been  compelled  to  surrender  their 
sacred  persons  to  the  infidels  in  the  same  region,  his  Imperial  Majesty  re¬ 
pressed  his  generous  feelings,  and  only  suffered  his  army  counsellors  to  un¬ 
derstand  his  sentiments  by  a  speech,  in  which  he  declared  so  desperate  and 
so  dishonourable  a  course  would  be  the  last  which  he  would  adopt,  even  in 
the  last  extremity  of  danger.  Thus  did  the  judgment  of  this  mighty  Prince 
at  once  reject  counsel  that  seemed  shameful  to  his  arms,  and  thereby  en¬ 
courage  the  zeal  of  his  troops,  while  privately  he  kept  this  postern  in  reserve, 
which  in  utmost  need  might  serve  for  a  safe,  though  not  altogether,  in  less 
urgent  circumstances,  an  honourable  retreat. 

“  AVhen  the  discussion  had  reached  this  melancholy  crisis,  the  renowned 
Achilles  Tatius  arrived  with  the  hopeful  intelligence,  that  he  himself  and 
some  soldiers  of  his  corps  had  discovered  an  opening  on  the  left  flank  of  our 
present  encampment,  by  which,  making  indeed  a  considerable  circuit,  but 
reaching,  if  we  marched  with  vigour,  the  town  of  Laodicea,  we  might,  by 
falling  back  on  our  resources,  be  in  some  measure  in  surety  from  the  enemy. 

“  So  soon  as  this  ray  of  hope  darted  on  the  troubled  mind  of  our  gracious 
father,  he  proceeded  to  make  such  arrangements  as  might  secure  the  full 
benefit  of  the  advantage.  Ilis  Imperial  Highness  would  not  permit  the 
brave  Varangians,  whose  battle-axes  he  accounted  the  flower  of  his  imperial 
army,  to  take  the  advanced  posts  of  assailants  on  the  present  occasion.  He 
repressed  the  love  of  battle  by  which  these  generous  foreigners  have  been 
at  all  times  distinguished,  and  directed  that  the  Syrian  forces  in  the  army, 
who  have  been  before  mentioned,  should  be  assembled  with  as  little  noise  as 
possible  in  the  vicinity  of  the  deserted  pass,  with  instructions  to  occupy  it. 
The  good  genius  of  the  empire  suggested  that,  as  their  speech,  arms,  and 
appearance,  resembled  those  of  the  enemy,  they  might  be  permitted  unop¬ 
posed  to  take  post  in  the  defile  with  their  light-armed  forces,  and  thus  secure 
it  for  the  passage  of  the  rest  of  the  army,  of  which  he  proposed  that  the 
Varangians,  as  immediately  attached  to  his  own  sacred  person,  should  form 
the  vanguard.  The  well-known  battalions,  termed  the  Immortals,  camei 
next,  comprising  the  gross  of  the  army,  and  forming  the  centre  and  rear. 
Achilles  Tatius,  the  faithful  Follower  of  his  Royal  Master,  although  mortified 
that  he  was  not  permitted  to  assume  the  charge  of  the  rear,  which  he  had 
proposed  for  himself  and  his  valiant  troops,  as  the  post  of  danger  at  the 
time,  cheerfully  acquiesced,  nevertheless,  in^  the  arrangement  proposed  by 
the  Emperor,  as  most  fit  to  effect  the  imperial  safety,  and  that  of  the  army. 

“  The  imperial  orders,  as  they  were  sent  instantly  abroad,  were  in  like 
manner  executed  with  the  readiest  punctuality,  the  rather  that  they  indi¬ 
cated  a  course  of  safety  which^,had  been  almost  despaired  of  even  by  the 
oldest  soldiers.  During  the  dead  period  of  time,  when,  as  the  divine  Homer 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


51 


tells  U8,  gods  and  men  are  alike  asleep,  it  was  found  that  the  vigilance  and 
prudence  of  a  single  individual  had  provided  safety  for  the  whole  Roman 
army.  The  pinnacles  of  the  mountain  passes  were  scarcely  touched  by  the 
earliest  beams  of  the  dawn,  when  these  beams  were  also  reflected  from  the 
steel  caps  and  spears  of  the  Syrians,  under  the  command  of  a  captain  named 
Monastras,  who,  with  his  tribe,  had  attached  himself  to  the  empire.  The 
Emperor,  at  the  head  of  his  faithful  Varangians,  defiled  through  the  passes  in 
order  to  gain  that  degree  of  advance  on  the  road  to  the  city  of  Laodicea 
W’hicli  w'as, desired,  so  as  to  avoid  coming  into  collision  wdth  the  barbarians. 

“  It  was  a  goodly  sight  to  see  the  dark  mass  of  northern  warriors,  who 
now  led  the  van  of  the  army,  moving  slowly  and  steadily  through  the  defiles 
of  the  mountains,  around  the  insulated  rocks  and  precipices,  and  surmount¬ 
ing  the  gentler  acclivities,  like  the  course  of  a  strong  and  mighty  river; 
while  the  loose  bands  of  archers  and  javelin-men,  armed  after  the  Eastern 
manner,  were  dispersed  on  the  steep  sides  of  the  defiles,  and  might  be  com¬ 
pared  to  light  foam  upon  the  edge  of  the  torrent.  In  the  midst  of  the 
squadrons  of  the  life-guard  might  be  seen  the  proud  war-horse  of  his  Im¬ 
perial  Majesty,  which  pawed  tlie  earth  indignantly,  as  if  impatient  at  the 
delay  which  separated  him  from  his  august  burden.  The  Emperor  Alexius 
himself  travelled  in  a  litter,  borne  by  eight  strong  African  slaves,  that  he 
might  rise  perfectly  refreshed  if  the  army  should  be  overtaken  by  the  enemy. 
The  valiant  Achilles  Tatius  rode  near  the  couch  of  his  master,  that  none 
of  those  luminous  ideas,  by  which  our  august  sire  so  often  decided  the  fate 
of  battle,  might  be  lost  for  Avant  of  instant  communication  to  those  whoso 
duty  it  w^as  to  execute  them.  I  may  also  say,  that  there  were  close  to  the 
litter  of  the  Emperor,  three  or  four  carriages  of  the  same  kind ;  one  pre¬ 
pared  for  the  Moon,  as  she  may  be  termed,  of  the  universe,  the  gracious 
Empress  Irene.  Among  the  others  which  might  be  mentioned,  was  that 
which  contained  the  authoress  of  this  history,  unworthy  as  she  may  be  of 
distinction,  save  as  the  daughter  of  the  eminent  and  sacred  persons  whom 
the  narration  chiefly  concerns.  In  this  manner  the  imperial  army  pressed 
on  through  the  dangerous  defiles,  where  their  march  was  exposed  to  insults 
from  the  barbarians.  They  were  happily  cleared  without  any  opposition. 
When  we  came  to  the  descent  of  the  pass  which  looks  down  on  the  city  of 
Laodicea,  the  sagacity  of  the  Emperor  commanded  the  van — which,  though 
the  soldiers  composing  the  same  were  heavily  armed,  had  hitherto  marched 
extremely  fast — to  halt,  as  well  that  they  themselves  might  take  some  repose 
and  refreshment,  as  to  give  the  rearward  forces  time  to  come  up,  and  close 
various  gaps  which  the  rapid  movement  of  those  in  front  had  occasioned  in 
the  line  of  march. 

“  The  place  chosen  for  this  purpose  was  eminently  beautiful,  from  the 
small  and  comparatively  insignificant  ridge  of  hills  which  melt  irregularly 
down  into  the  plains  stretching  between  the  pass  which  we  occupied  and 
Laodicea.  The  town  was  about  one  hundred  stadia  distant,  and  some  of 
our  more  sanguine  warriors  pretended  that  they  could  already  discern  ibs 
towers  and  pinnacles,  glittering  in  the  early  beams  of  the  sun,  which  had 
not  as  yet  risen  high  into  the  horizon.  A  mountain  torrent,  which  found  its 
source  at  the  foot  of  a  huge  rock,  that  yawned  to  give  it  birth,  as  if  struck 
by  the  rod  of  the  prophet  Moses,  poured  its  liquid  treasure  down  to  the 
more  level  country,  nourishing  herbage  and  even  large  trees,  in  its  descent, 
until,  at  the  distance  of  some  four  or  five  miles,  the  stream,  at  least  in  dry 
seasons,  was  lost  amid  heaps  of  sand  and  stones,  which  in  the  rainy  season 
marked  the  strength  and  fury  of  its  current. 

“  It  was  pleasant  to  see  the  attention  of  the  Emperor  to  the  comforts  of 
the  companions  and  guardians  of  his  march.  The  trumpets  from  time  to 
time  gave  license  to  various  parties  of  the  Varangians  to  lay  down  their 
arms,  to  eat  the  food  which  was  distributed  to  them,  and  quench  their  thirst 
at  the  pure  stream,  which  poured  its  bounties  down  the  hill,  or  they  might 


52 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


bo  seen  to  extend  their  bulky  forms  upon  the  turf  around  them.  The  Em¬ 
peror,  his  most  serene  spouse,  and  the  princesses  and  ladies,  were  also  served 
with  breakfast,  at  the  fountain  formed  by  the  small  brook  in  its  very  birth, 
and  which  the  reverent  feelings  of  the  soldiers  had  left  unpolluted  by  vulgar 
touch,  for  the  use  of  that  family,  emphatically  said  to  be  born  in  the  purple. 
Our  beloved  husband  was  also  present  on  this  occasion,  and  was  among  the 
first  to  detect  one  of  the  disasters  of  the  day.  For,  although  all  the  rest  of 
the  repast  had  been,  by  the  dexterity  of  the  officers  of  the  imperial  mouth, 
so  arranged,  even  on  so  awful  an  occasion,  as  to  exhibit  little  difference 
from  the  ordinary  provisions  of  the  household,  yet,  when  his  Imperial  High¬ 
ness  called  for  wine,  behold,  not  only  was  the  sacred  liquor,  dedicated  to  bis 
own  peculiar  imperial  use,  wholly  exhausted  or  left  behind,  but,  to  use  the 
language  of  Horace,  not  the  vilest  Sabine  vintage  could  be  procured ;  so 
that  his  Imperial  Highness  was  glad  to  accept  the  offer  of  a  rude  Varangian, 
who  proffered  his  modicum  of  decocted  barley,  which  these  barbarians 
prefer  to  the  juice  of  the  grape.  The  Emperor,  nevertheless,  accepted  of 
this  coarse  tribute.^^ 

“  Insert,'’  said  the  Emperor,  who  had  been  hitherto  either  plunged  in  deep 
contemplation  or  in  an  incipient  slumber,  “  insert,  I  say,  these  very  words : 

‘  And  with  the  heat  of  the  morning,  and  anxiety  of  so  rapid  a  march,  with 
a  numerous  enemy  in  his  rear,  the  Emperor  was  so  thirsty,  as  never  in  his 
life  to  think  beverage  more  delicious." 

In  obedience  to  ber  imperial  father's  orders,  the  Princess  resigned  the 
manuscript  to  the  beautiful  slave  by  whom  it  was  written,  repeating  to  the 
fair  scribe  the  commanded  addition,  requiring  her  to  note  it,  as  made  by 
the  express  sacred  command  of  the  Emperor,  and  then  proceeded  thus  :  — 
“  More  had  I  said  here  respecting  the  favourite  liquor  of  your  Imperial 
Highness's  faithful  Varangians ;  but  your  Highness  having  once  graced  it 
with  a  word  of  commendation,  this  ail,  as  they  call  it,  doubtless  because 
removing  all  disorders,  which  they  term  ‘  ailments,'  becomes  a  theme  too 
lofty  for  the  discussion  of  any  inferior  person.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  thus 
were  we  all  pleasantly  engaged,  the  ladies  and  slaves  trying  to  find  some 
amusement  for  the  imperial  ears ;  the  soldiers,  in  a  long  line  down  the 
ravine,  seen  in  different  postures,  some  straggling  to  the  watercourse,  some 
keeping  guard  over  the  arms  of  their  comrades,  in  which  duty  they  relieved 
each  other,  while  body  after  body  of  the  remaining  troops,  under  command 
of  the  Protospathaire,  and  particularly  those  called  Immortals,*  joined  the 
main  army  as  they  came  up.  Those  soldiers  who  were  already  exhausted, 
were  allowed  to  take  a  short  repose,  after  which  they  were  sent  forward, 
with  directions  to  advance  steadily  on  the  road  to  Laodicea ;  while  their 
leader  was  instructed,  so  soon  as  he  should  open  a  free  communication  with 
that  city,  to  send  thither  a  command  for  reinforcements  and  refreshments, 
not  forgetting  fitting  provision  of  the  sacred  wine  for  the  imperial  mouth. 
Accordingly,  the  Roman  bands  of  Immortals  and  others  had  resumed  their 
march,  and  held  some  way  on  their  journey,  it  being  the  imperial  pleasure 
that  the  Varangians,  lately  the  vanguard,  should  now  form  the  rear  of  the 
whole  army,  so  as  to  bring  off  in  safety  the  Syrian  light  troops,  by  whom 
the  hilly  pass  was  still  occupied,  when  we  heard  upon  the  other  side  of  this 
defile,  which  he  had  traversed  with  so  much  safety,  the  awful  sound  of  the 
Lelies,  as  the  Arabs  name  their  shout  of  onset,  though  in  what  language  it 
is  expressed,  it  would  be  hard  to  say.  Perchance  some  in  this  audience 
may  enlighten  my  ignorance." 

“May  I  speak  and  live!"  said  the  Acoulouthos  Achilles,  proud  of  his 
literary  knowledge,  “  the  words  are,  Alla  ilia  alia,  Moliamed  resoul  alla.^ 
These,  or  something  like  them,  contain  the  Arabs'  profession  of  fiiith,  which 

*  The  A-Oavaroi,  or  Immortals,  of  the  army  of  Constantinople,  were  a  select  body,  so  named,  in  imitation 
of  tlie  ancient  Persians.  They  were  first  embodied,  according  to  Ducange,  by  Michael  Ducas 

t  i-  e.  “  God  is  god  —  Mahomet  is  the  prophet  of  God.” 


COUNT  II  0  B  E  R  T  OF  PARIS. 


53 


they  always  call  out  when  they  join  battle;  I  have  heard  them  many 
times.'' 

“  And  so  have  I,"  said  the  Emperor ;  “  and  as  thou  didst,  I  warrant  me, 
I  have  sometimes  wished  myself  anywhere  else  than  within  hearing." 

All  the  circle  were  alive  to  hear  the  answer  of  Achiles  Tatius.  He  was 
too  good  a  courtier,  however,  to  make  any  imprudent  reply.  “  It  was  my 
duty,"  he  replied,  “  to  desire  to  be  as  near  your  Imperial  Highness  as  your 
faithful  Follower  ought,  wherever  you  might  wish  yourself  for  the  time." 

Agelastes  and  Zosimus  exchanged  looks,  and  the  Princess  Anna  Comnena 
proceeded  in  her  recitation. 

“  The  cause  of  these  ominous  sounds,  which  came  in  wild  confusion  up 
the  rocky  pass,  was  soon  explained  to  us  by  a  dozen  cavaliers,  to  whom  the 
task  of  bringing  intelligence  had  been  assigned. 

“  These  informed  us,  that  the  barbarians,  whose  host  had  been  dispersed 
around  the  position  in  which  they  had  encamped  the  preceding  day,  had  not 
been  enabled  to  get  their  forces  together  until  our  light  troops  were  evacu¬ 
ating  the  post  they  had  occupied  for  securing  the  retreat  of  our  army.  They 
were  then  drawing  off  from  the  tops  of  the  hills  into  the  pass  itself,  when, 
in  despite  of  the  rocky  ground,  they  were  charged  furiously  by  Jezdegerd, 
at  the  head  of  a  large  body  of  his  followers,  which,  after  repeated  exertions, 
he  had  at  length  brought  to  operate  on  the  rear  of  the  Syrians.  Notwith¬ 
standing  that  the  pass  was  unfavourable  for  cavalry,  the  personal  exertions 
of  the  infidel  chief  made  his  followers  advance  with  a  degree  of  resolution 
unknown  to  the  Syrians  of  the  Koman  army,  who,  finding  themselves  at  a 
distance  from  their  companions,  formed  the  injurious  idea  that  they  W'ere 
left  there  to  be  sacrificed,  and  thought  of  flight  in  various  directions,  rather 
than  of  a  combined  and  resolute  resistance.  The  state  of  affairs,  therefore, 
at  the  further  end  of  the  pass,  was  less  favourable  than  we  could  wish,  and 
those  whose  curiosity  desired  to  see  something  wdiich  might  be  termed  the 
rout  of  the  rear  of  an  army,  beheld  the  Syrians  pursued  from  the  hill  tops, 
overwhelmed,  and  individually  cut  down  and  made  prisoners  by  the  bands 
of  caitiff  Mussulmans. 

“  Ilis  Imperial  Highness  looked  upon  the  scene  of  battle  for  a  few  minutes, 
and,  much  commoved  at  what  he  saw,  was  somewhat  hasty  in  his  directions 
to  the  Varangians  to  resume  their  arms,  and  precipitate  their  march  towards 
Laodicea ;  whereupon  one  of  those  northern  soldiers  said  boldly,  though  in 
opposition  to  the  imperial  command,  ‘  If  we  attempt  to  go  hastily  down  this 
hill,  our  rear-guard  will  be  confused,  not  only  by  our  own  hurry,  but  by 
these  runaway  scoundrels  of  Syrians,  who  in  their  headlong  flight  will  not 
fail  to  mix  themselves  among  our  ranks.  Let  two  hnndred  Varangians, 
who  will  live  and  die  for  the  honour  of  England,  abide  in  the  very  throat 
of  this  pass  with  me,  while  the  rest  escort  the  Emperor  to  this  Laodicea,  or 
whatever  it  is  called.  We  may  perish  in  our  defence,  but  we  shall  die  in 
our  duty ;  and  I  have  little  doubt  but  we  shall  furnish  such  a  meal  as  will 
stay  the  stomach  of  these  yelping  hounds  from  seeking  any  farther  banquet 
this  day.' 

“  My  imperial  father  at  once  discovered  the  importance  of  this  advice, 
though  it  made  him  wellnigh  weep  to  see  with  what  unshrinking  fidelity 
these  poor  barbarians  pressed  to  fill  up  the  number  of  those  who  were  to 
undertake  this  desperate  duty — with  what  kindness  they  took  leave  of  their 
comrades,  and  with  what  jovial  shouts  they  followed  their  sovereign  with 
their  eyes  as  he  proceeded  on  his  march  down  the  hill,  leaving  them  behind 
to  resist  and  perish.  The  Imperial  eyes  were  filled  with  tears ;  and  I  am 
not  ashamed  to  confess,  that  amid  the  terror  of  the  moment,  the  Empress, 
and  I  myself,  forgot  our  rank  in  paying  a  similar  tribute  to  these  bold  and 
self-devoted  men. 

‘‘We  left  their  leader  carefully  arraying  his  handful  of  comrades  in  defence 
of  the  pass,  where  the  middle  path  was  occupied  by  their  centre,  while  their 

E  2 


54 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


wings  on  either  side  were  so  disposed  as  to  act  upon  the  flanks  of  the  enemy, 
should  he  rashly  press  upon  such  as  appeared  opposed  to  him  in  the  road. 
We  had  not  proceeded  half  way  towards  the  plain,  when  a  dreadful  shout 
arose,  in  which  the  yells  of  the  Arabs  were  mingled  with  the  deep  and  more 
regular  shouts  which  these  strangers  usually  repeat  thrice,  as  well  when 
bidding  hail  to  their  commanders  and  princes,  as  when  in  the  act  of  enga¬ 
ging  in  battle.  Many  a  look  was  turned  back  by  their  comrades,  and  many 
a  form  was  seen  in  the  ranks  which  might  have  claimed  the  chisel  of  a 
sculptor,  while  the  soldier  hesitated  whether  to  follow  the  line  of  his  duty, 
which  called  him  to  march  forward  with  his  Emperor,  or  the  impulse  of 
courage,  which  prompted  him  to  rush  back  to  join  his  companions.  Disci¬ 
pline,  however,  prevailed,  and  the  main  body  marched  on. 

“  An  hour  had  elapsed,  during  which  we  heard,  from  time  to  time,  the 
noise  of  battle,  when  a  mounted  Varangian  presented  himself  at  the  side  of 
the  Emperor’s  litter.  The  horse  was  covered  with  foam,  and  had  obviously, 
from  his  trappings,  the  fineness  of  his  limbs,  and  the  smallness  of  his  joints, 
been  the  charger  of  some  chief  of  the  desert,  which  had  fallen  by  the  chance 
of  battle  into  the  possession  of  the  northern  warrior.  The  broad  axe  which 
the  Varangian  bore  was  also  stained  with  blood,  and  the  paleness  of  death 
itself  was  upon  his  countenance.  These  marks  of  recent  battle  were  held 
sufficient  to  excuse  the  irregularity  of  his  salutation,  while  he  exclaimed, — 
‘Noble  Prince,  the  Arabs  are  defeated,  and  you  may  pursue  your  march  at 
more  leisure.’ 

“‘Where  is  Jezdegerd?’  said  the  Emperor,  who  had  many  reasons  for 
dreading  this  celebrated  chief. 

“  ‘  Jezdegerd,’  continued  the  Varangian,  ‘  is  where  brave  men  are  who  fall 
in  their  duty.’ 

“  ‘  And  that  is’ — said  the  Emperor,  impatient  to  know  distinctly  the  fate 
of  so  formidable  an  adversary - 

“  ‘  Where  I  am  now  going,’  answered  the  faithful  soldier,  who  dropped 
from  his  horse  as  he  spoke,  and  expired  at  the  feet  of  the  litter-bearers. 

“  The  Emperor  called  to  his  attendants  to  see  that  the  body  of  this  faithful 
retainer,  to  whom  he  destined  an  honourable  sepulchre,  was  not  left  to  the 
jackal  or  vulture;  and  some  of  his  brethren,  the  Anglo-Saxons,  among 
whom  he  was  a  man  of  no  mean  repute,  raised  the  body  on  their  shoulders, 
and  resumed  their  march  with  this  additional  encumbrance,  prepared  to 
fight  for  their  precious  burden,  like  the  valiant  Menelaus  for  the  body  of 
Patroclus.” 

The  Princess  Anna  Comnena  here  naturally  paused;  for,  having  attained 
what  she  probably  considered  as  the  rounding  of  a  period,  she  was  willing 
to  gather  an  idea  of  the  feelings  of  her  audience.  Indeed,  but  that  she  had 
been  intent  upon  her  own  manuscript,  the  emotions  of  the  foreign  soldier 
must  have  more  early  attracted  her  attention.  In  the  beginning  of  her  reci¬ 
tation,  he  had  retained  the  same  attitude  which  he  had  at  first  assumed, 
stiff  and  rigid  as  a  sentinel  upon  duty,  and  apparently  remembering  nothing 
save  that  he  was  performing  that  duty  in  presence  of  the  imperial  court. 
As  the  narrative  advanced,  however,  he  appeared  to  take  more  interest  in 
what  was  read.  The  anxious  fears  expressed  by  the  various  leaders  in  the 
midnight  council,  he  listened  to  with  a  smile  of  suppressed  contempt,  and 
he  almost  laughed  at  the  praises  bestowed  upon  the  leader  of  his  own  corps, 
AchiUes  Tatius.  Nor  did  even  the  name  of  the  Emperor,  though  listened 
to  respectfully,  gain  that  applause  for  which  his  daughter  fought  so  hard, 
and  used  so  much  exaggeration. 

Hitherto  the  Varangian’s  countenance  indicated  very  slightly  any  internal 
emotions  ;  but  they  appeared  to  take  a  deeper  hold  on  his  mind  as  she  came 
to  the  description  of  the  halt  after  the  main  army  had  cleared  the  pass ;  the 
unexpected  advance  of  the  Arabs ;  the  retreat  of  the  column  which  escorted 
the  Emperor;  and  the  account  of  the  distant  engagement.  He  lost,  on 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


55 


hearing  the  narration  of  these  events,  the  rigid  and  constrained  look  of  a 
soldier,  who  listened  to  the  history  of  his  Emperor  with  the  same  feelings 
with  which  he  would  have  mounted  guard  at  his  palace.  Ilis  colour  began 
to  come  and  go ;  his  eyes  to  fill  and  to  sparkle  ;  his  limbs  to  become  more 
agitated  than  their  owner  seemed  to  assent  to ;  and  his  whole  appearance 
was  changed  into  that  of  a  listener,  highly  interested  by  the  recitation 
which  he  hears,  and  insensible,  or  forgetful,  of  whatever  else  is  passing 
before  him,  as  well  as  of  the  quality  of  those  who  are  present. 

As  the  historian  proceeded,  Ilereward  became  less  able  to  conceal  his  agi¬ 
tation  ;  and  at  the  moment  the  Princess  looked  round,  his  feelings  became 
so  acute,  that,  forgetting  where  he  was,  he  dropped  his  ponderous  axe  upon 
the  floor,  and,  clasping  his  hands  together,  exclaimed,  —  “  My  unfortunate 
brother  \” 

All  were  startled  by  the  clang  of  the  falling  weapon,  and  several  persons 
at  once  attempted  to  interfere,  as  called  upon  to  explain  a  circumstance  so 
unusual.  Achilles  Tatius  made  some  small  progress  in  a  speech  designed 
to  apologize  for  the  rough  mode  of  venting  his  sorrows  to  which  Ilereward 
had  given  way,  by  assuring  the  eminent  persons  present,  that  the  poor  un¬ 
cultivated  barbarian  was  actually  younger  brother  to  him  who  had  com¬ 
manded  and  fallen  at  the  memorable  defile.  The  Princess  said  nothing, 
but  was  evidently  struck,  and  affected,  and  not  ill-pleased,  perhaps,  at 
having  given  rise  to  feelings  of  interest  so  flattering  to  her  as  an  authoress. 
The  others,  each  in  their  character,  uttered  incoherent  words  of  what  was 
meant  to  be  consolation  ;  for  distress  which  flows  from  a  natural  cause, 
generally  attracts  sympathy  even  from  the  most  artificial  characters. 
The  voice  of  Alexius  silenced  all  these  imperfect  speakers :  “  Hah,  my 
brave  soldier,  Edward  \”  said  the  Emperor,  “  I  must  have  been  blind  that  I 
did  not  sooner  recognise  thee,  as  I  think  there  is  a  memorandum  entered, 
respecting  five  hundred  pieces  of  gold  due  from  us  to  Edward  the  Varan¬ 
gian  ;  we  have  it  in  our  secret  scroll  of  such  liberalities  for  which  we  stand 
indebted  to  our  servitors,  nor  shall  the  payment  be  longer  deferred.’^ 

“  Not  to  me,  if  it  may  please  you,  my  liege,’'  said  the  Anglo-Dane,  hastily 
composing  his  countenance  into  its  rough'  gravity  of  lineament,  “  lest  it 
should  be  to  one  who  can  claim  no  interest  in  your  imperial  munificence. 
My  name  is  Ilereward ;  that  of  Edward  is  borne  by  three  of  my  compa¬ 
nions,  all  of  them  as  likely  as  I  to  have  deserved  your  Highness’s  reward 
for  the  faithful  performance  of  their  duty.” 

Many  a  sign  was  made  by  Tatius  in  order  to  guard  his  soldier  against  the 
foll^  of  declining  the  liberality  of  the  Emperor.  Agelastes  spoke  more 
plainly:  “Young  man,”  he  said,  “rejoice  in  an  honour  so  unexpected,  and 
answer  henceforth  to  no  other  name  save  that  of  Edward,  by  which  it  hath 
pleased  the  light  of  the  world,  as  it  poured  a  ray  upon  thee,  to  distinguish 
thee  from  other  barbarians.  What  is  to  thee  the  font-stone,  or  the  priest 
officiating  thereat,  shouldst  thou  have  derived  from  either  any  epithet  difl'e- 
rent  from  that  by  which  it  hath  now  pleased  the  Emperor  to  distinguish 
thee  from  the  common  mass  of  humanity,  and  by  which  proud  distinction 
thou  hast  now  a  right  to  be  known  ever  afterwards  ?” 

“  Ilereward  was  the  name  of  my  father,”  said  the  soldier,  who  had  now 
altogether  recovered  his  composure.  “  I  cannot  abandon  it  while  I  honour 
his  memory  in  death.  Edward  is  the  title  of  my  comrade — I  must  not  run 
the  risk  of  usurping  his  interest.” 

“  Peace  all !”  interrupted  the  Emperor.  “  If  we  have  made  a  mistake, 
we  are  rich  enough  to  right  it ;  nor  shall  Ilereward  be  the  poorer,  if  an 
Edward  shall  be  found  to  merit  this  gratuity.” 

“  Your  Highness  may  trust  that  to  your  affectionate  consort,”  answered 
the  Empress  Irene. 

“  His  most  sacred  Highness,”  said  the  Princess  Anna  Comnena,  “  is  so 
avariciously  desirous  to  do  whatever  is  good  and  gracious,  that  he  leaves  no 


5G 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


room  even  for  his  nearest  connexions  to  display  generosity  or  munificence. 
Nevertheless,  I,  in  my  degree,  will  testify  my  gratitude  to  this  brave  man  ; 
for  where  his  exploits  are  mentioned  in  this  history,  I  will  cause  to  be  re¬ 
corded, — ‘  This  feat  was  done  by  Hereward  the  Anglo-Dane,  whom  it  hath 
pleased  his  Imperial  Majesty  to  call  Edward/  Keep  this,  good  youth, she 
continued,  bestowing  at  the  same  time  a  ring  of  price,  “  in  token  that  we 
will  not  forget  our  engagement.” 

Hereward  accepted  the  token  with  a  profound  obeisance,  and  a  discompo¬ 
sure  which  his  station  rendered  not  unbecoming.  It  was  obvious  to  most 
persons  present,  that  the  gratitude  of  the  beautiful  Princess  was  expressed 
in  a  manner  more  acceptable  to  the  youthful  life-guardsman,  than  that  of 
Alexius  Comnenus.  He  took  the  ring  with  great  demonstration  of  thank¬ 
fulness: — “  Precious  relic  !”  he  said,  as  he  saluted  this  pledge  of  esteem  by 
pressing  it  to  his  lips  ;  “we  may  not  remain  long  together,  but  be  assured,” 
bending  reverently  to  the  Princess,  “  that  death  alone  shall  part  us.” 

“  Proceed,  our  princely  daughter,”  said  the  Empress  Irene ;  “  you  have 
done  enough  to  show  that  valour  is  precious  to  her  w'ho  can  confer  fame, 
whether  it  be  found  in  a  Roman  or  a  barbarian.” 

The  Princess  resumed  her  narrative  with  some  slight  appearance  of 
embarrassment. 

“  Our  movement  upon  Laodicea  was  now  resumed,  and  continued  with 
good  hopes  on  the  part  of  those  engaged  in  the  march.  Yet  instinctively 
we  could  not  help  casting  our  eyes  to  the  rear,  which  had  been  so  long  the 
direction  in  which  we  feared  attack.  At  length,  to  our  surprise,  a  thick 
cloud  of  dust  was  visible  on  the  descent  of  the  hill,  half  way  betwixt  us 
and  the  place  at  which  we  had  halted.  Some  of  the  troops  who  composed 
our  retreating  body,  particularly  those  in  the  rear,  began  to  exclaim  ‘  The 
Arabs  !  the  Arabs  and  their  march  assumed  a  more  precipitate  character 
when  they  believed  themselves  pursed  by  the  enemy.  But  the  Varangian 
guards  affirmed  with  one  voice,  that  the  dust  was  raised  by  the  remains  of 
their  own  comrades,  who,  left  in  the  defence  of  the  pass,  had  marched  off 
after  having  so  valiantly  maintained  the  station  intrusted  to  them.  They 
fortified  their  opinion  by  professional  remarks  that  the  cloud  of  dust  was 
more  concentrated  than  if  raised  by  the  Arab  horse,  and  they  even  pre¬ 
tended  to  assert,  from  their  knowledge  of  such  cases,  that  the  number  of 
their  comrades  had  been  much  diminished  in  the  action.  Some  Syrian 
horsemen,  despatched  to  reconnoitre  the  approaching  body,  brought  intelli¬ 
gence  corresponding  with  the  opinion  of  the  Varangians  in  every  particular. 
The  portion  of  the  body-guard  had  beaten  back  the  Arabs,  and  their  gallant 
leader  had  slain  their  chief  Jezdegerd,  in  which  service  he  was  mortally 
wounded,  as  this  history  hath  already  mentioned.  The  survivors  of  the 
detachment,  diminished  by  one  half,  were  now  on  their  march  to  join  the 
Emperor,  as  fast  as  the  encumbrance  of  bearing  their  wounded  to  a  place 
of  safety  would  permit. 

“  The  Emperor  Alexius,  with  one  of  those  brilliant  and  benevolent  ideas 
which  mark  his  paternal  character  towards  his  soldiers,  ordered  all  the 
litters,  even  that  for  his  own  most  sacred  use,  to  be  instantly  sent  back  to 
relieve  the  bold  Varangians  of  the  task  of  bearing  the  wounded.  The 
shouts  of  the  Varangians’  gratitude  may  be  more  easily  conceived  than 
described,  when  they  beheld  the  Emperor  himself  descend  from  his  litter, 
like  an  ordinary  cavalier,  and  assume  his  war-horse,  at  the  same  time  that 
the  most  sacreu  Empress,  as  well  as  the  authoress  of  this  history,  with  other 
princesses  born  in  the  purple,  mounted  upon  mules  in  order  to  proceed  upon 
the  march,  while  their  litters  were  unhesitatingly  assigned  for  the  accom¬ 
modation  of  the  wounded  men.  This  was  indeed  a  mark,  as  well  of  military 
sagacity  as  of  humanity ;  fo^  the  relief  afforded  to  the  bearers  of  the 
wounded,  enabled  the  survivors  of  those  who  had  defended  the  defile  at  the 
fountain,  to  join  us  sooner  than  would  otherwise  have  been  possible. 


COUNT  11  0  B  E  II  T  OF  P  A  11  I  S  . 


57 


“  It  was  an  an  awful  thing  to  see  those  men  who  had  left  us  in  the  full 
splendour  which  military  equipment  gives  to  youth  and  strength,  again  ap¬ 
pearing  in  diminished  numbers  —  their  armour  shattered — their  shields  full 
of  arrows — their  offensive  weapons  marked  with  blood,  and  they  themselves 
exhibiting  all  the  signs  of  desperate  and  recent  battle.  Nor  was  it  less 
interesting  to  remark  the  meeting  of  the  soldiers  who  had  been  engaged, 
with  the  comrades  whom  they  had  rejoined.  The  Emperor,  at  the  sug¬ 
gestion  of  the  trusty  Acoulouthos,  permitted  them  a  few  moments  to  leave 
their  ranks,  and  learn  from  each  other  the  fate  of  the  battle. 

“  As  the  two  bands  mingled,  it  seemed  a  meeting  where  grief  and  joy  had 
a  contest  together.  The  most  rugged  of  these  barbarians, — and  I  who  saw 
it  can  bear  witness  to  the  fact, — as  he  welcomed  with  a  grasp  of  his  strong 
hand  some  comrade  whom  he  had  given  up  for  lost,  had  his  large  blue  eyes 
filled  with  tears  at  hearing  of  the  loss  of  some  one  whom  he  had  hoped 
might  have  survived.  Other  veterans  reviewed  the  standards  which  had 
been  in  the  conflict,  satisfled  themselves  that  they  had  all  been  brought  back 
in  honour  and  safety,  and  counted  the  fresh  arrow-shots  with  which  they 
had  been  pierced,  in  addition  to  similar  marks  of  former  battles.  All  were 
loud  in  the  praises  of  the  brave  young  leader  they  had  lost,  nor  were  the 
acclamations  less  general  in  laud  of  him  who  had  succeeded  to  the  com¬ 
mand,  who  brought  up  the  party  of  his  deceased  brother — and  whom,^^  said 
the  Princess,  in  a  few  words  which  seemed  apparently  interpolated  for  the 
occasion,  “  I  now  assure  of  the  high  honour  and  estimation  in  which  he  is 
held  by  the  author  of  this  history  —  that  is,  I  would  say,  by  every  member 
of  the  imperial  family  —  for  his  gallant  services  in  such  an  important 
crisis.^’ 

Having  hurried  over  her  tribute  to  her  friend  the  Varangian,  in  which 
emotions  mingled  that  are  not  willingly  expressed  before  so  many  hearers, 
Anna  Comnena  proceeded  with  composure  in  the  part  of  her  history  which 
which  was  less  personal. 

“We  had  not  much  time  to  make  more  observations  on  what  passed 
among  those  brave  soldiers ;  for  a  few  minutes  having  been  allowed  to  their 
feelings,  the  trumpet  sounded  the  advance  towards  Laodicea,  and  we  soon 
beheld  the  town,  now  about  four  miles  from  us,  in  fields  which  were  chiefly 
covered  with  trees.  Apparently  the  garrison  had  already  some  notice  of 
our  approach,  for  carts  and  wains  were  seen  advancing  from  the  gates  with 
refreshments,  which  the  heat  of  the  day,  the  length  of  the  march,  and 
columns  of  dust,  as  well  as  the  want  of  water,  had  rendered  of  the  last 
necessity  to  us.  The  soldiers  joyfully  mended  their  pace  in  order  to  meet 
the  sooner  with  the  supplies  of  which  they  stood  so  much  in  need.  But  as 
the  cup  doth  not  carry  in  all  cases  the  liquid  treasure  to  the  lips  for  which 
it  was  intended,  however  much  it  may  be  longed  for,  what  was  our  mortifi¬ 
cation  to  behold  a  cloud  of  Arabs  issue  at  full  gallop  from  the  wooded  plain 
betwixt  the  Roman  army  and  the  city,  and  throw  themselves  upon  the 
waggons,  slaying  the  drivers,  and  making  havoc  and  spoil  of  the  contents ! 
This,  we  afterwards  learned,  was  a  body  of  the  enemy,  headed  by  Varanes, 
equal  in  military  fame,  among  those  infidels,  to  Jezdegerd,  his  slain  brother. 
When  this  chieftain  saw  that  it  was-  probable  that  the  Varangians  would 
succeed  in  their  desperate  defence  of  the  pass,  he  put  himself  at  the  head 
of  a  large  body  of  the  cavalry ;  and  as  these  infidels  are  mounted  on  horses 
unmatched  either  in  speed  or  wind,  performed  a  long  circuit,  traversed  the 
stony  ridge  of  hills  at  a  more  northerly  defile,  and  placed  himself  in  ambus¬ 
cade  in  the  wooded  plain  I  have  mentioned,  with  the  hope  of  making  an 
unexpected  assault  upon  the  Emperor  and  his  army,  at  the  very  time  when 
they  might  be  supposed  to  reckon  upon  an  undisputed  retreat.  This  surprise 
would  certainly  have  taken  place,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  say  what  might  have 
been  the  consequence,  had  not  the  unexpected  appearance  of  the  train  of 
waggons  awakened  the  unbridled  rapacity  of  the  Arabs,  in  spite  of  their 


58 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


commander's  prudence,  and  attempts  to  restrain  them.  In  this  manner  the 
proposed  ambuscade  was  discovered. 

“But  Varanes,  willing  still  to  gain  some  advantage  from  the  raj^idity  of 
his  movements,  assembled  as  many  of  his  horsemen  as  could  be  collected 
from  the  spoil,  and  pushed  forward  towards  the  Romans,  who  had  stopped 
short  on  their  march  at  so  unlooked  for  an  apparition.  There  was  an  un¬ 
certainty  and  wavering  in  our  first  ranks  which  made  their  hesitation  known 
even  to  so  poor  a  judge  of  military  demeanour  as  myself.  On  the  contrary, 
the  Varangians  joined  in  a  unanimous  cry  of  ‘Bills’*  (that  is,  in  their  lan¬ 
guage,  battle-axes,)  ‘to  the  front!’  and  the  Emperor’s  most  gracious  will 
acceding  to  their  valorous  desire,  they  pressed  forward  from  the  rear  to  the 
head  of  the  column.  I  can  hardly  say  how  this  manoeuvre  was  executed, 
but  it  Avas  doubtless  by  the  wise  directions  of  my  most  serene  father,  distin¬ 
guished  for  his  presence  of  mind  upon  such  difficult  occasions.  It  was,  no 
doubt,  much  facilitated  by  the  good  will  of  the  troops  themselves  ;  the  Ro¬ 
man  bands,  called  the  Immortals,  showing,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  no  less  desire 
to  fall  into  the  rear,  than  did  the  Varangians  to  occupy  the  places  which 
the  Immortals  left  vacant  in  front.  The  manoeuvre  was  so  happily  executed, 
that  before  Varanes  and  his  Arabs  had  arrived  at  the  van  of  our  troops, 
they  found  it  occupied  by  the  inflexible  guard  of  northern  soldiers.  I  might 
have  seen  with  my  own  eyes,  and  called  upon  them  as  sure  evidences  of 
that  which  chanced  upon  the  occasion.  But,  to  confess  the  truth,  my  eyes 
were  little  used  to  look  upon  such  sights;  for  of  Varanes’s  charge  I  only 
beheld,  as  it  were,  a  thick  cloud  of  dust  rapidly  driven  forward,  through 
which  were  seen  the  glittering  points  of  lances,  and  the  waving  plumes  of 
turban’d  cavaliers  imperfectly  visible.  The  teebir  was  so  loudly  uttered, 
that  I  was  scarcely  aware  that  kettle-drums  and  brazen  cymbals  were 
sounding  in  concert  with  it.  But  this  wild  and  outrageous  storm  was  met 
as  effectually  as  if  encountered  by  a  rock. 

“  The  Varangians,  unshaken  by  the  furious  charge  of  the  Arabs,  received 
horse  and  rider  with  a  shower  of  blows  from  their  massive  battle-axes, 
which  the  bravest  of  the  enemy  could  not  face,  nor  the  strongest  endure. 
The  guards  strengthened  their  ranks  also,  by  the  hindmost  pressing  so  close 
upon  those  that  went  before,  after  the  manner  of  the  ancient  Macedonians, 
that  the  fine-limbed,  though  slight  steeds  of  those  Idurneans  could  not  make 
the  least  inroad  upon  the  northern  phalanx.  The  bravest  men,  the  most 
gallant  horses,  fell  in  the  first  rank.  The  weighty,  though  short,  horse 
javelins,  flung  from  the  rear  ranks  of  the  brave  Varangians,  with  good  aim 
and  sturdy  arm,  completed  the  confusion  of  the  assailants,  who  turned  their 
back  in  affright,  and  fled  from  the  field  in  total  confusion. 

“  The  enemy  thus  repulsed,  we  proceeded  on  our  march,  and  only  halted 
when  we  recovered  our  half-plundered  waggons.  Here,  also,  some  invidious 
remarks  were  made  by  certain  officers  of  the  interior  of  the  household,  who 
had  been  on  duty  over  the  stores,  and  having  -fled  from  their  posts  on  the 
assault  of  the  infidels,  had  only  returned  upon  their  being  repulsed.  These 
men,  quick  in  malice,  though  slow  in  perilous  service,  reported  that,  on 
this  occasion,  the  Varangians  so  far  forgot  their  duty  as  to  consume  a  part 
of  the  sacred  wine  reserved  for  the  imperial  lips  alone.  It  would  be 
criminal  to  deny  that  this  was  a  great  and  culpable  oversight ;  nevertheless,  ^ 
our  imperial  hero  passed  it  over  as  a  pardonable  ofience  ;  remarking,  in  a 
jesting  manner,  that  since  he  had  drunk  the  ail,  as  they  termed  it,  of  his 
trusty  guard,  the  Varangians  had  acquired  a  right  to  quench  the  thirst, 
and  to  relieve  the  fatigue,  which  they  had  undergone  that  day  in  his 
defence,  though  they  used  for  these  purposes  the  sacred  contents  of  the 
imperial  cellar. 

“  In  the  meantime,  the  cavalry  of  the  army  were  despatched  in  pursuit 


*  Villehardouin  says,  “  Les  Anglois  et  Danois  mult  bien  rombattoiiil  avec  leurs  haches" 


COUNT  ROB  E  R  T  0  F  PARIS. 


59 


of  the  fugitive  Arabs;  and  having  succeeded  in  driving  them  behind  the 
chain  of  hills  which  had  so  recently  divided  them  from  the  Romans,  the 
imperial  arms  might  justly  be  considered  as  having  obtained  a  complete 
and  glorious  victory. 

“We  are  now  to  mention  the  rejoicings  of  the  citizens  of  Laodicca,  who, 
having  witnessed  from  their  ramparts,  with  alternate  fear  and  hope,  the 
fluctuations  of  the  battle,  now  descended  to  congratulate  the  imperial  con¬ 
queror.’^ 

Here  the  fair  narrator  was  interrupted.  The  principal  entrance  of  the 
apartment  flew  open,  noiselessly  indeed,  but  with  both  folding  leaves  at 
once,  not  as  if  to  accommodate  the  entrance  of  an  ordinary  courtier,  study¬ 
ing  to  create  as  little  disturbance  as  possible,  but  as  if  there  was  entering 
a  person,  who  ranked  so  high  as  to  make  it  indifferent  how  much  attention 
was  drawn  to  his  motions.  It  could  only  be  one  born  in  the  purple,  or 
nearly  allied  to  it,  to  whom  such  freedom  was  lawful ;  and  most  of  the 
guests,  knowing  who  were  likely  to  appear  in  that  Temple  of  the  Muses, 
anticipated,  from  the  degree  of  bustle,  the  arrival  of  Nicephorus  Briennius, 
the  son-in-law  of  Alexius  Comnenus,  the  husband  to  the  fair  historian,  and 
in  the  rank  of  Caesar,  which,  however,  did  not  at  that  period  imply,  as  in  * 
early  ages,  the  dignity  of  second  person  in  the  empire.  The  policy  of 
Alexius  had  interposed  more  than  one  person  of  condition  between  the 
Ca3sar  and  his  original  rights  and  rank,  which  had  once  been  second  to 
those  only  of  the  Emperor  himself. 


Cjiaptcr  tjjE  liftji. 

The  storm  increases  —  ’tis  no  sunny  shower, 

Foster’d  in  the  moist  breast  of  March  or  April, 

Or  such  as  parched  Summer  cools  his  lip  with : 

Heaven’s  windows  are  flung  wide ;  the  inmost  deeps 
Call  in  hoarse  greeting  one  upon  another; 

On  comes  the  flood  in  all  its  foaming  horrors, 

And  where’s  the  dike  shall  stop  it! 

The  Deluge,  a  Poem. 

The  distinguished  individual  who  entered  was  a  noble  Grecian,  of  stately 
presence,  whose  habit  was  adorned  with  every  mark  of  dignity,  saving 
those  which  Alexius  had  declared  sacred  to  the  Emperor’s  own  person  and 
that  of  the  Sebastocrator,  whom  he  had  established  as  next  in  rank  to  the 
head  of  the  empire.  Nicephorus  Briennius,  who  was  in  the  bloom  of 
youth,  retained  all  the  marks  of  that  manly  beauty  which  had  made  the 
match  acceptable  to  Anna  Comnena;  while  political  considerations,  and 
the  desire  of  attaching  a  powerful  house  as  friendly  adherents  of  the  throne, 
recommended  the  union  to  the  Emperor. 

'We  have  already  hinted  that  the  royal  bride  had,  though  in  no  great 
degree,  the  very  doubtful  advantage  of  years.  Of  her  literary  talents  we 
have  seen  tokens.  Yet  it  was  not  believed  by  those  who  best  knew,  that, 
with  the  aid  of  those  claims  to  respect,  Anna  Comnena  was  successful  in 
possessing  the  unlimited  attachment  of  her  handsome  husband.  To  treat 
her  with  apparent  neglect,  her  connexion  with  the  crown  rendered  im¬ 
possible  ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  power  of  Nicephorus’s  family  was 
too  great  to  permit  his  being  dictated  to  even  by  the  Emperor  himself.  He 
was  possessed  of  talents,  as  it  was  believed,  calculated  both  for  war  and 
peace.  His  advice  was,  tlierefore,  listened  to,  and  his  assistance  required, 


(50 


’W  A  V  R  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 


SO  that  he  claimed  complete  liberty  with  respect  to  his  own  time,  which  he 
sometimes  used  with  less  regular  attendance  upon  the  Temple  of  the  Muses, 
than  the  goddess  of  the  place  thought  herself  entitled  to,  or  than  the  Em¬ 
press  Irene  was  disposed  to  exact  on  the  part  of  her  daughter.  The  good- 
humoured  Alexius  observed  a  sort  of  neutrality  in  this  matter,  and  kept  it 
as  much  as  possible  from  becoming  visible  to  the  public,  conscious  that  it 
required  the  whole  united  strength  of  his  family  to  maintain  his  place  in  so 
agitated  an  empire. 

lie  pressed  his  son-in-law’s  hand,  as  Nicephorus,  passing  his  father-in- 
law’s  seat,  bent  his  knee  in  token  of  homage.  The  constrained  manner  of 
the  Empress  indicated  a  more  cold  reception  of  her  son-in-law,  while  the 
fair  muse  herself  scarcely  deigned  to  signify  her  attention  to  his  arrival, 
when  her  handsome  mate  assumed  the  vacant  seat  by  her  side,  which  we 
have  already  made  mention  of. 

There  was  an  awkward  pause,  during  which  the  imperial  son-in-law, 
coldly  received  when  he  expected  to  be  welcomed,  attempted  to  enter  into 
some  light  conversation  with  the  fair  slave  Astarte,  who  knelt  behind  her 
mistress.  This  was  interrupted  by  the  Princess  commanding  her  attendant 
to  enclose  the  manuscript  within  its  appropriate  casket,  and  convey  it  with 
her  own  hands  to  the  cabinet  of  Apollo,  the  usual  scene  of  the  Princess’s 
studies,  as  the  Temple  of  the  Muses  was  that  commonly  dedicated  to  her 
recitations. 

The  Emperor  himself  was  the  first  to  break  an  unpleasant  silence.  “Fair 
son-in-law,”  he  said,  “  though  it  now  wears  something  late  in  the  night,  you 
will  do  yourself  wrong  if  you  permit  our  Anna  to  send  away  that  volume, 
with  which  this  company  have  been  so  delectably  entertained  that  they  may 
well  say,  that  the  desert  hath  produced  roses,  and  the  barren  rocks  have 
poured  forth  milk  and  honey,  so  agreeable  is  the  narrative  of  a  toilsome  and 
dangerous  campaign,  in  the  language  of  our  daughter.” 

“  The  Caesar,”  said  the  Empress,  “  seems  to  have  little  taste  for  such 
dainties  as  this  family  can  produce.  He  hath  of  late  repeatedly  absented 
himself  from  this  Temple  of  the  Muses,  and  found  doubtless  more  agreeable 
conversation  and  amusement  elsewhere.” 

“  I  trust,  madam,”  said  Nicephorus,  “  that  my  taste  may  vindicate  me 
from  the  charge  implied.  But  it  is  natural  that  our  sacred  father  should 
be  most  delighted  with  the  milk  and  honey  which  is  produced  for  his  own 
special  use.” 

The  Princess  spoke  in  the  tone  of  a  handsome  woman  offended  by  her 
lover,  and  feeling  the  offence,  yet  not  indisposed  to  a  reconciliation. 

“  If,”  she  said,  “  the  deeds  of  Nicephorus  Briennius  are  less  frequently 
celebrated  in  that  poor  roll  of  parchment  than  those  of  my  illustrious 
father,  he  must  do  me  the  justice  to  remember  that  such  was  his  own 
special  request :  either  proceeding  from  that  modesty  which  is  justly  ascribed 
to  him  as  serving  to  soften  and  adorn  his  other  attributes,  or  because  he 
with  justice  distrusts  his  wife’s  power  to  compose  their  eulogium.” 

“We  will  then  summon  back  Astarte,”  said  the  Empress,  “  who  cannot 
yet  have  carried  her  offering  to  the  cabinet  of  Apollo.” 

“  With  your  imperial  pleasure,”  said  Nicephorus,  “  it  might  incense  the 
Pythian  god  were  a  deposit  to  be  recalled  of  which  he  alone  can  fitly  esti¬ 
mate  the  value.  I  came  hither  to  speak  with  the  Emperor  upon  pressing 
affairs  of  state,  and  not  to  hold  a  literary  conversation  with  a  company 
which  I  must  needs  say  is  something  of  a  miscellaneous  description,  since  I 
behold  an  ordinary  life-guardsman  in  the  imperial  circle.” 

“By  the  rood,  son-in-law,”  said  Alexius,  “you  do  this  gallant  man  wrong, 
lie  is  the  brother  of  that  brave  Anglo-Dane  who  secured  the  victory  at 
Laodicea  by  his  valiant  conduct  and  death ;  he  himself  is  that  Edmund  — 
or  Edward  —  or  Ilereward  —  to  whom  we  are  ever  bound  for  securing  the 
success  of  that  victorious  day.  He  was  called  into  our  presence,  son-in-law, 


GL 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  P  A  R  I  vS  . 

since  it  imports  that  you  should  know  so  much,  to  refresh  the  memory  of 
my  Follower,  Achilles  Tatius,  as  well  as  mine  own,  concerning  some  tran¬ 
sactions  of  the  day  of  which  we  had  become  in  some  degree  oblivious/' 

“Truly,  imperial  sir,"  answered  Briennius,  “I  grieve  that,  by  having 
intruded  on  some  such  important  researches,  I  may  have,  in  some  degree,  inter 
cepted  a  portion  of  that  light  which  is  to  illuminate  future  ages.  Methinks 
that  in  a  battle-field,  fought  under  your  imperial  guidance,  and  that  of  your 
great  ca.]>tains,  your  evidence  might  well  supersede  the  testimony  of  such  a 
man  as  this.  —  Let  me  know,"  he  added,  turning  haughtily  to  the  Varan¬ 
gian,  “  what  particular  thou  carist  add,  that  is  unnoticed  in  the  Princess's 
narrative  ?" 

The  Varangian  replied  instantly,  “  Only  that  when  we  made  a  halt  at  the 
fountain,  the  music  that  was  there  made  by  the  ladies  of  the  Emperor's 
household,  and  particularly  by  those  two  whom  I  now  behold,  was  the  most 
exquisite  that  ever  reached  my  ears." 

“Hah!  darest  thou  to  speak  so  audacious  an  opinion?"  exclaimed  Nice- 
phorus ;  “  is  it  for  such  as  thou  to  suppose  for  a  moment  that  the  music 
which  the  wife  and  daughter  of  the  Emperor  might  condescend  to  make, 
was  intended  to  afford  either  matter  of  pleasure  or  of  criticism  to  every 
plebeian  barbarian  who  might  hear  them  ?  Begone  from  this  place !  nor 
dare,  on  any  pretext,  again  to  appear  before  mine  eyes  —  under  allowance 
always  of  our  imperial  father's  pleasure." 

The  Varangian  bent  his  looks  upon  Achilles  Tatius,  as  the  person  from 
whom  he  was  to  take  his  orders  to  stay  or  withdraw.  But  the  Emperor 
himself  took  up  the  subject  vvdth  considerable  dignity. 

“  Son,"  he  said,  “  we  cannot  permit  this.  On  account  of  some  love 
quarrel,  as  it  would  seem,  betwixt  you  and  our  daughter,  you  allow  yourself 
strangely  to  forget  our  imperial  rank,  and  to  order  from  our  presence  those 
whom  we  have  pleased  to  call  to  attend  us.  This  is  neither  right  nor  seemly, 
nor  is  it  our  pleasure  that  this  same  Ilereward  —  or  Edward  —  or  whatever 
be  his  name — either  leave  us  at  this  present  moment,  or  do  at  any  time  here¬ 
after  regulate  himself  by  any  commands  save  our  owm,  or  those  of  our 
Follower,  Achilles  Tatius.  And  now,  allowing  this  foolish  affair,  which  I 
think  w’as  blown  among  us  by  the  wind,  to  pass  as  it  came,  without  farther 
notice,  we  crave  to  know  the  grave  matters  of  state  which  brought  you  to 
our  presence  at  so  late  an  hour. — You  look  again  at  this  Varangian. — With¬ 
hold  not  your  words,  I  pray  you,  on  account  of  his  presence ;  for  he  stands 
as  high  in  our  trust,  and  we  are  convinced  with  as  good  reason,  as  any 
counsellor  who  has  been  sw'orn  our  domestic  servant." 

“  To  hear  is  to  obey,"  returned  the  Emperor's  son-in-law,  who  saw  that 
Alexius  was  somewhat  moved,  and  knew  that  in  such  cases  it  was  neither 
safe  nor  expedient  to  drive  him  to  extremity.  “What  I  have  to  say,"  con¬ 
tinued  he,  “  must  so  soon  be  public  news,  that  it  little  matters  Avho  hears  it ; 
and  yet  the  West,  so  full  of  strange  changes,  never  sent  to  the  Eastern  half 
of  the  globe  tidings  so  alarming  as  those  I  now  come  to  tell  your  Imperial 
Highness.  Europe,  to  borrow  an  expression  from  this  lady,  who  honours 
me  by  calling  me  husband,  seems  loosened  from  its  foundations  and  about 
to  precipitate  itself  upon  Asia" - 

“  So  1  did  express  myself,"  said  the  Princess  Anna  Comnena,  “  and,  as 
I  trust,  not  altogether  unforcibly,  when  we  first  heard  that  the  wild  impulse 
of  those  restless  barbarians  of  Europe  had  driven  a  tempest  as  of  a  thousand 
nations  upon  our  western  frontier,  with  the  extravagant  purpose,  as  they 
pretended,  of  possessing  themselves  of  Syria,  and  the  holy  places  there 
marked  as  the  sepulchres  of  prophets,  the  martyrdom  of  saints,  and  the 
great  events  detailed  in  the  blessed  gospel.  But  that  storm,  by  all  accounts, 
hath  burst  and  passed  away,  and  we  well  hoped  that  the  danger  had  gone 
with  it.  Devoutly  shall  we  sorrow  to  find  it  otherwise." 

“And  otherwise  we  must  expect  to  find  it,"  said  her  husband.  “It  is 

F 


62 


W  A  V  E  R  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 


very  true,  as  reported  to  us,  that  a  huge  body  of  men,  of  low  rank  and  little 
understanding,  assumed  arms  at  the  instigation  of  a  mad  hermit,  and  took 
the  road  from  Germany  to  Hungary,  expecting  miracles  to  be  wrought  in 
their  favour,  as  when  Israel  was  guided  through  the  wilderness  by  a  pillar 
of  flame  and  a  cloud.  But  no  showers  of  manna  or  of  quails  relieved  their 
necessities,  or  proclaimed  them  the  chosen  people  of  God.  No  waters 
gushed  from  the  rock  for  their  refreshment.  They  were  enraged  at  their 
sufferings,  and  endeavoured"  to  obtain  supplies  by  pillaging  the  country. 
The  Hungarians,  and  other  nations  on  our  western  frontiers,  Christians, 
like  themselves,  did  not  hesitate  to  fall  upon  this  disorderly  rabble  ;  and 
immense  piles  of  bones,  in  wild  passes  and  unfrequented  deserts,  attest  the 
calamitous  defeats  which  extirpated  these  unholy  pilgrims.’’ 

“  All  this,”  said  the  Emperor,  “  we  knew  before  ; — but  what  new  evil  now 
threatens,  since  we  have  already  escaped  so  important  a  one  ?”  * 

“Knew  before?”  said  the  Prince  Nicephorus.  “AVe  knew  nothing  of 
our  real  danger  before,  save  that  a  wild  herd  of  animals,  as  brutal  and  as 
furious  as  wild  bulls,  threatened  to  bend  their  way  to  a  pasture  for  which 
they  had  formed  a  fancy,  and  deluged  the  Grecian  empire,  and  its  vicinity, 
in  their  passage,  expecting  that  Palestine,  with  its  streams  of  milk  and 
honey,  once  more  awaited  them,  as  God’s  predestined  people.  But  so  wild 
and  disorderly  an  invasion  had  no  terrors  for  a  civilized  nation  like  the  Ro¬ 
mans.  The  brute  herd  was  terrified  by  our  Greek  fire ;  it  was  snared  and 
shot  down  by  the  wild  nations  who,  while  they  pretend  to  independence, 
cover  our  frontier  as  with  a  protecting  fortification.  The  vile  multitude  has 
been  consumed  even  by  the  very  quality  of  the  provisions  thrown  in  their 
way, — those  wise  means  of  resistance  which  were  at  once  suggested  by  the 
paternal  care  of  the  Emperor,  and  by  his  unfailing  policy.  Thus  wisdom 
has  played  its  part,  and  the  bark  over  which  the  tempest  had  poured  its 
thunder,  has  escaped,  notwithstanding  all  its  violence.  But  the  second 
storm,  by  which  the  former  is  so  closely  followed,  is  of  a  new  descent  of 
these  Western  nations,  more  formidable  than  any  which  we  or  our  fathers 
have  yet  seen.  This  consists  not  of  the  ignorant  or  of  the  fanatical  —  not 
of  the  base,  the  needy,  and  the  improvident.  Now, — all  that  wide  Europe 
possesses  of  what  is  wise  and  worthy,  brave  and  noble,  are  united  by  the 
most  religious  vows,  in  the  same  purpose,” 

“  And  what  is  that  purpose  ?  Speak  plainly,”  said  Alexius.  “  The 
destruction  of  our  whole  Roman  empire,  and  the  blotting  out  the  very  name 
of  its  chief  from  among  the  princes  of  the  earth,  among  which  it  has  long 
been  predominant,  can  alone  be  an  adequate  motive  for  a  confederacy  such 
as  thy  speech  infers.” 

“No  such  design  is  avowed,”  said  Nicephorus;  “and  so  many  princes, 
wise  men,  and  statesmen  of  eminence,  aim,  it  is  pretended,  at  nothing  else 
than  the  same  extravagant  purpose  announced  by  the  brute  multitude  who 
first  appeared  in  these  regions.  Here,  most  gracious  Emperor,  is  a  scroll, 
in  which  you  will  find  marked  down  a  list  of  the  various  armies  which,  by 
different  routes,  are  approaching  the  vicinity  of  the  empire.  Behold,  Hugh 
of  Vermandois,  called  from  his  dignity  Hugh  the  Great,  has  set  sail  from 
the  shores  of  Italy.  Twenty  knights  have  already  announced  their  coming, 
sheathed  in  armour  of  steel,  inlaid  with  gold,  bearing  this  proud  greeting: 
—  ‘  Let  the  Emperor  of  Greece,  and  his  lieutenants,  understand  that  Hugo, 
Earl  of  Vermandois,  is  approaching  his  territories.  He  is  brother  to  the 
king  of  kings — The  King  of  France,*  namely — and  is  attended  by  the  flower 
of  the  French  nobility.  He  bears  the  blessed  banner  of  St.  Peter,  intrusted 
to  his  victorious  care  by  the  holy  successor  of  the  apostle,  and  warns  thee 
of  all  this,  that  thou  mayst^provide  a  reception  suitable  to  his  rank.’  ” 

*  Ducange  pours  out  a  whole  oceati  of  authorities  to  sliow  that  the  King  of  France  was  in  those  days  style‘1 
JJcx,  by  way  of  eminence.  See  his  notes  on  the  Alexiad.  Anna  Comnena  in  lier  history  makes  Hugh  of 
Vermaiulois  a.«sume  to  liirnself  the  titles  whioli  could  only,  ni  the  most  entliusiastic  Frenchinaa’s  opu.ioii, 
have  been  claimed  by  his  elder  brother,  the  reigning  monarch. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


G3 


“Here  are  sounding  words/' said  the  Emperor;  “but  the  wind  which 
whistles  loudest  is  not  alwa3"s  most  dangerous  to  the  vessel.  AVe  know 
something  of  this  nation  of  France,  and  have  heard  more.  They  are  as 
petulant  at  least  as  they  are  valiant;  we  will  flatter  their  vanity  till  we  get 
time  and  opportunity  for  more  effectual  defence.  Tush  I  if  Avords  can  pay 
debt,  there  is  no  fear  of  our  exchequer  becoming  insolvent. — AVhat  flfllows 
here,  Nicephorus?  A  list,  I  suppose,  of  the  followers  of  this  great  count?" 

“  My  liege,  no  !"  answered  Nicephorus  Briennius  ;  “  so  manj’  independent 
chiefs,  as  your  Imperial  Highness  sees  in  that  memorial,  so  many  inde¬ 
pendent  European  armies  are  advancing  by  different  routes  towards  the 
East,  and  announce  the  conquest  of  Palestine  from  the  infidels  as  their 
common  object." 

“  A  dreaflful  enumeration,"  said  the  Emperor,  as  he  perused  the  list ; 
“yet  so  far  happy,  that  its  very  length  assures  us  of  the  impossibility  that 
so  many  princes  can  bo  seriously  and  consistently  united  in  so  wild  a  pro¬ 
ject.  Thus  already  my  eyes  catch  the  well-known  name  of  an  old  friend, 
our  enemy — for  such  are  the  alternate  chances  of  peace  and  war — Bohemond 
of  Antioch.  Is  not  he  the  son  of  the  celebrated  Bobert  of  Apulia,  so 
renowned  among  his  countr^unen,  who  raised  himself  to  the  rank  of  grand 
duke  from  a  simple  cavalier,  and  became  sovereign  of  those  of  his  warlike 
nation,  both  in  Sicily  and  Italy?  Did  not  the  standards  of  the  German 
Emperor,  of  the  Roman  Pontiff’,  nay,  our  own  imperial  banners,  give  way 
before  him  ;  until,  equally  a  wily  statesman  and  a  brave  warrior,  he  became 
the  terror  of  Europe,  from  being  a  knight  whose  Norman  castle  would  have 
been  easily  garrisoned  by  six  cross-bows,  and  as  many  lances?  It  is  a 
dreadful  family,  a  race  of  craft  as  well  as  power.  But  Bohemond,  the  son 
of  old  Robert,  will  follow  his  father’s  politics.  He  may  talk  of  Palestine 
and  of  the  interests  of  Christendom,  but  if  I  can  make  his  interests  the  same 
with  mine,  he  is  not  likely  to  be  guided  by  any  other  object.  So  then,  with 
the  knowledge  I  already  possess  of  his  wishes  and  projects,  it  may  chance 
that  Heaven  sends  us  an  ally  in  the  guise  of  an  enemy. — AVhom  have  wo 
next?  Godfrey*  Duke  of  Bouillon — leading,  I  see,  a  most  formidable  band 
from  the  banks  of  a  huge  river  called  the  Rhine.  What  is  this  person’s 
character  ?" 

“  As  Ave  hear,"  replied  Nicephorus,  “  this  Godfrey  is  one  of  the  wisest, 
noblest,  and  bravest  of  the  leaders  who  have  thus  strangely  put  themselves 
in  motion ;  and  among  a  list  of  independent  princes,  as  many  in  number 
as  those  who  assembled  for  the  siege  of  Troy,  and  folloAved,  most  of  them, 
by  subjects  ten  times  more  numerous,  this  Godfrey  may  be  regarded  as  the 
Agamemnon.  The  princes  and  counts  esteem  him,  because  he  is  the  fore¬ 
most  in  the  ranks  of  those  whom  they  fantastically  call  Knights,  and  also 
on  account  of  the  good  faith  and  generosity  which  he  practises  in  all  his 
transactions.  The  clergy  give  him  credit  for  the  highest  zeal  for  the  doc¬ 
trines  of  religion,  and  a  corresponding  respect  for  the  Church  and  its  dig¬ 
nitaries.  Justice,  liberality,  and  frankness,  have  equally  attached  to  this 
Godfrey  the  lower  class  of  the  people.  His  general,  attention  to  moral  obli¬ 
gations  is  a  pledge  to  them  that  his  religion  is  real ;  and,  gifted  with  so 
much  that  is  excellent,  he  is  already,  although  inferior  in  rank,  birth,  and 
poAver  to  many  chiefs  of  the  crusade,  justl}^  regarded  as  one  of  its  principal 
leaders." 

“  Pitj',’’  said  the  Emperor,  “  that  a  character  such  as  you  describe  this 
Prince  to  be,  should  be  under  the  dominion  of  a  fanaticism  scarce  worthy 
of  Peter  the  Hermit,  or  the  clownish  multitude’ which  he  led,  or  of  the  very 
ass  which  he  rode  upon  !  Avhich  I  am  apt  to  think  the  wisest  of  the  first 
multitude  whom  we  beheld,  seeing  that  it  ran  away  toAvards  Europe  as  soon 
as  water  and  barley  became  scarce.’’ 

•  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  Duke  of  Lower  Lorraine  —  the  great  Captain  of  the  first  Crusade,  afterwards  King 
of  Jerusalem  See  Gibbon,— or  Mills,  paisiwi. 


64 


waverley  novels. 

\ 

“Might  I  be  permitted  here  to  speak,  and  yet  live,’’  said  Agelastes,  “I 
would  remark  that  the  Patriarch  himself  made  a  similar  retreat  so  soon  as 
blows  became  plenty  and  food  scarce.” 

“  Thou  hast  hit  it,  Agelastes,”  said  the  Emperor ;  “  but  the  question  now 
is,  whether  an  honorable  and  important  principality  could  not  be  formed  out 
of  part  of  the  provinces  of  the  Lesser  Asia,  now  laid  waste  by  the  Turks. 
Such  a  principality,  methinks,  with  its  various  advantages  of  soil,  climate, 
industrious  inhabitants,  and  a  healthy  atmosphere,  were  well  worth  the 
morasses  of  Bouillon.  It  might  be  held  as  a  dependence  upon  the  sacred 
Koman  empire,  and  garrisoned,  as  it  were,  by  Godfrey  and  his  victorious 
Franks,  would  be  a  bulwark  on  that  point  to  our  just  and  sacred  person. 
Ila !  most  holy  patriarch,  would  not  such  a  prospect  shake  the  most  devout 
Crusader’s  attachment  to  the  burning  sands  of  Palestine  ?” 

“Especially,”  answered  the  Patriarch,  “if  the  prince  for  whom  such  a 
rich  theme^  was  changed  into  a  feudal  appanage,  should  be  previously  con¬ 
verted  to  the  only  true  faith,  as  your  Imperial  Highness  undoubtedly 
means.” 

“Certainly — most  unquestionably,”  answered  the  Emperor,  with  a  due 
affectation  of  gravity,  notwithstanding  he  was  internally  conscious  how  often 
he  had  been  compelled,  by  state  necessities,  to  admit,  not  only  Latin  Chris¬ 
tians,  but  Manicheans,  and  other  heretics,  nay,  Mahomedan  barbarians,  into 
the  number  of  his  subjects,  and  that  without  experiencing  opposition  from 
the  scruples  of  the  Patriarch.  “Here  I  find,”  continued  the  Emperor, 
“  such  a  numerous  list  of  princes  and  principalities  in  the  act  of  approach¬ 
ing  our  boundaries,  as  might  well  rival  the  armies  of  old,  who  were  said  to 
have  drunk  up  rivers,  exhausted  realms,  and  trode  down  forests,  in  their 
wasteful  advance.”  As  he  pronounced  these  words,  a  shade  of  ’paleness 
came  over  the  Imperial  brow,  similar  to  that  which  had  already  clothed  in 
sadness  most  of  his  counsellors. 

“  This  war  of  nations,”  said  Nicephorus,  “  has  also  circumstances  distin¬ 
guishing  it  from  every  other,  save  that  which  his  Imperial  Highness  hath 
waged  in  former  times  against  those  whom  we  are  accustomed  to  call 
Franks.  We  must  go  forth  against  a  people  to  whom  the  strife  of  combat 
is  as  the  breath  of  their  nostrils ;  who,  rather  than  not  be  engaged  in  war, 
will  do  battle  with  their  nearest  neighbours,  and  challenge  each  other  to 
mortal  fight,  as  much  in  sport  as  we  would  defy  a  comrade  to  a  chariot-race. 
They  are  covered  with  an  impenetrable  armour  of  steel,  defending  them 
from  blows  of  the  lance  and  sword,  and  which  the  uncommon  strength  of 
their  horses  renders  them  able  to  support,  though  one  of  ours  could  as  well 
bear  Mount  Olympus  upon  his  loins.  Their  foot-ranks  carry  a  missile 
weapon  unknown  to  us,  termed  an  arblast,  or  cross-bow.  It  is  not  drawn 
with  the  right  hand,  like  the  bow  of  other  nations,  but  by  placing  the  feet 
upon  the  weapon  itself,  and  pulling  with  the  whole  force  of  the  body  ;  and 
it  despatches  arrows  called  bolts,  of  hard  wood  pointed  with  iron,  which  the 
strength  of  the  bow  can  send  through  the  strongest  breastplates,  and  even 
through  stone  walls,  where  not  of  uncommon  thickness.” 

“  Enough,”  said  the  Emperor ;  “  we  have  seen  with  our  own  eyes  the 
lances  of  Frankish  knights,  and  the  cross-bows  of  their  infantry.  If 
Heaven  has  allotted  them  a  degree  of  bravery,  which  to  other  nations  seems 
wellnigh  preternatural,  the  Divine  will  has  given  to  the  Greek  councils  that 
wisdom  which  it  hath  refused  to  barbarians  ;  the  art  of  achieving  conquest 
by  wisdom  rather  than  brute  force  —  obtaining  by  our  skill  in  treaty  advan¬ 
tages  which  victory  itself  could  not  have  procured.  If  we  have  not  the  use 
of  that  dreadful  weapon,  which  our  son-in-law  terms  the  cross-bow.  Heaven, 
in  its  favour,  has  concealed ffrom  these  western  barbarians  the  composition 
and  use  of  the  Greek  fire — well  so  called,  since  by  Grecian  hands  alone  it  is 


•  These  provinces  were  called  Themes. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


G5 


prepared,  and  by  such  only  can  its  lightnings  be  darted  upon  the  astonished 
Ibe.”  The  Emperor  paused,  and  looked  around  him  ;  and  although  the  faces 
of  his  counsellors  still  looked  blank,  he  boldly  proceeded : — “  But  to  return 
yet  again  to  tliis  black  scroll,  containing  the  names  of  those  nations  who 
approach  our  frontier,  here  occur  more  than  one  with  which,  methinks,  old 
memory  should  make  us  familiar,  though  our  recollections  are  distant  and 
confused.  It  becomes  us  to  know  who  these  men  are,  that  we  may  avail 
ourselves  of  those  feuds  and  quarrels  among  them,  which,  being  blown  into 
life,  may  happily  divert  them  from  the  prosecution  of  this  extraordinary 
attempt  in  which  they  are  now  united.  Here  is,  for  example,  one  Robert, 
styled  Duke  of  Normandy,  who  commands  a  goodly  band  of  counts,  with 
wliich  title  we  are  but  too  well  acquainted  ;  of  earls,  a  word  totally  strange 
to  us,  but  apparently  some  barbaric  title  of  honour ;  and  of  knights  whose 
names  are  compounded,  as  we  think,  chiefly  of  the  French  language,  but 
also  of  another  jargon,  which  we  are  not  ourselves  competent  to  understand. 
To  you,  most  reverend  and  most  learned  Patriarch,  we  may  fittest  apply  for 
information  on  this  subject.’’ 

“  The  duties  of  my  station,”  replied  the  patriarch  Zosimus,  “  have  with¬ 
held  my  riper  years  from  studying  the  history  of  distant  realms  ;  but  the 
wise  Agelastes,  who  hath  read  as  many  volumes  as  would  fill  the  shelves  of 
the  famous  Alexandrian  library,  can  no  doubt  satisfy  your  Imperial  Majesty’s 
enquiries.”  * 

Agelastes  erected  himself  on  those  enduring  legs  which  had  procured  him 
the  surname  of  Elephant,  and  began  a  reply  to  the  enquiries  of  the  Emperor, 
rather  remarkable  for  readiness  than  accuracy.  “  I  have  read,”  said  he, 
“  in  that  brilliant  mirror  which  reflects  the  time  of  our  fathers,  the  volumes 
of  the  learned  Procopius,  that  the  people  separately  called  Normans  and 
Angles  are  in  truth  the  same  race,  and  that  Normandy,  sometimes  so  called, 
is  in  fact  a  part  of  a  district  of  Gaul.  Beyond,  and  nearly  opposite  to  it, 
but  separated  by  an  arm  of  the  sea,  lies  a  ghastly  region,  on  which  clouds 
and  tempests  for  ever  rest,  and  which  is  well  known  to  its  continental  neigh¬ 
bours  as  the  abode  to  which  departed  spirits  are  sent  after  this  life.  On 
one  side  of  the  strait  dwell  a  few  fishermen,  men  possessed  of  a  strange 
charter,  and  enjoying  singular  privileges,  in  consideration  of  their  being 
the  living  ferrymen  who,  performing  the  office  of  the  heathen  Charon,  carry 
the  spirits  of  the  departed  to  the  island  which  is  their  residence  after  death. 
At  the  dead  of  night,  these  fishermen  are,  in  rotation,  summoned  to  perform 
the  duty  by  which  they  seem  to  hold  the  permission  to  reside  ou  this  strange 
coast.  A  knock  is  heard  at  the  door  of  his  cottage  who  holds  the  turn  of 
this  singular  service,  sounded  by  no  mortal  hand.  A  whispering,  as  of  a 
decaying  breeze,  summons  the  ferryman  to  his  duty.  He  hastens  to  his 
bark  on  the  sea-shore,  and  has  no  sooner  launched  it  than  he  perceives  its 
hull  sink  sensibly  in  the  water,  so  as  to  express  the  weight  of  the  dead  with 
whotn  it  is  filled.  No  form  is  seen,  and  though  voices  are  heard,  yet  the 
accents  are  undistinguishable,  as  of  one  who  speaks  in  his  sleep.  Thus  he 
traverses  the  strait  between  the  continent  and  the  island,  impressed  with 
the  mysterious  awe  which  afifects  the  living  when  they  are  conscious  of  tlie 
presence  of  the  dead.  They  arrive  upon  the  opposite  coast,  where  the  cliffs 
of  white  chalk  form  a  strange  contrast  with  the  eternal  darkness  of  tlie 
atmosphere.  They  stop  at  a  landing-place  appointed,  but  disembark  not, 
for  the  land  is  never  trodden  by  earthly  feet.  Ilere  the  passage-boat  is  gra¬ 
dually  lightened  of  its  unearthly  inmates,  who  wander  forth  in  the  way 
appointed  to  them,  while  the  mariners  slowly  return  to  their  own  side  of 
the  strait,  having  performed  for  the  time  this  singular  service,  by  which 
they  hold  their  fishing-huts  and  their  possessions  on  that  strange  coast.” 
Here  he  ceased,  and  the  Emperor  replied, — 

“  If  this  legend  be  actually  told  us  by  Procopius,  most  learned  Agelastes, 
it  shows  that  that  celebrated  historian  came  more  near  the  heathen  than  the 

VoL.  XII.  —  5  f2 


66 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


Christian  belief  respecting  the  future  state.  In  truth,  this  is  little  more  than 
the  old  fable  of  the  infernal  Styx.  Procopius,  we  believe,  lived  before  the 
decay  of  heathenism,  and,  as  we  would  gladly  disbelieve  much  which  he 
hath  told  us  respecting  our  ancestor  and  predecessor  Justinian,  so  we  will 
not  pay  him  much  credit  in  future  in  point  of  geographical  knowledge.  — 
Meanwhile,  what  ails  thee,  Achilles  Tatius,  and  why  dost  thou  whisper  with 
that  soldier  V’ 

“  My  head,^^  answered  Achilles  Tatius,  “  is  at  your  imperial  command, 
prompt  to  pay  for  the  unbecoming  trespass  of  my  tongue.  I  did  but  ask  of 
this  llereward  here  what  he  knew  of  this  matter;  for  I  have  heard  my 
Varangians  repeatedly  call  themselves  Anglo-Danes,  Normans,  Britons,  or 
some  other  barbaric  epithet,  and  I  am  sure  that  one  or  other,  or  it  may  be 
all,  of  these  barbarous  sounds,  at  different  times  serve  to  designate  the 
birth-place  of  these  exiles,  too  happy  in  being  banished  from  the  darkness 
of  barbarism,  to  the  luminous  vicinity  of  your  imperial  presence.’^ 

“  Speak,  then,  Varangian,  in  the  name  of  Heaven, said  the  Emperor, 
“  and  let  us  know  whether  we  are  to  look  for  friends  or  enemies  in  those 
men  of  Normandy  who  are  now  approaching  our  frontier.  Speak  with 
courage,  man ;  and  if  thou  apprehendest  danger,  remember  thou  servest  a 
prince  well  qualified  to  protect  thee.^^ 

“  Since  I  am  at  liberty  to  speak,^^  answered  the  life-guardsman,  “although 
my  knowledge  of  the  Greek  language,  which  you  term  the  Roman,  is  but 
slight,  I  trust  it  is  enough  to  demand  of  his  Imperial  Highness,  in  place  of 
all  pay,  donative,  or  gift  whatsoever,  since  he  has  been  pleased  to  talk  of 
designing  such  for  me,  that  he  would  place  me  in  the  first  line  of  battle 
which  shall  be  formed  against  these  same  Normans,  and  their  Duke  Robert; 
and  if  he  pleases  to  allow  me  the  aid  of  such  Varangians  as,  for  love  of  me, 
or  hatred  of  their  ancient  tyrants,  may  be  disposed  to  join  their  arms  to 
mine,  I  have  little  doubt  so  to  settle  our  long  accounts  with  these  men,  that 
the  Grecian  eagles  and  wolves  shall  do  them  the  last  office,  by  tearing  the 
flesh  from  their  bones.^^ 

“What  dreadful  feud  is  this,  my  soldier,”  said  the  Emperor,  “  that  after 
so  many  years  still  drives  thee  to  such  extremities  when  the  very  name  of 
Normandy  is  mentioned?” 

“  Your  Imperial  Highness  shall  be  judge!”  said  the  Varangian.  “My 
fathers,  and  those  of  most,  though  not  all  of  the  corps  to  whom  I  belong, 
are  descended  from  a  valiant  race  who  dwelt  in  the  North  of  Germany, 
called  Anglo-Saxons.  Nobody,  save  a  priest  possessed  of  the  art  of  con¬ 
sulting  ancient  chronicles,  can  even  guess  how  long  it  is  since  they  came  to 
the  island  of  Britain,  then  distracted  with  civil  war.  They  came,  however, 
on  the  petition  of  the  natives  of  the  island,  for  the  aid  of  the  Angles  was 
requested  by  the  southern  inhabitants.  Provinces  were  granted  in  recom¬ 
pense  of  the  aid  thus  liberally  afforded,  and  the  greater  proportion  of  the 
island  became,  by  degrees,  the  property  of  the  Anglo-Saxons,  who  occupied 
it  at  first  as  several  principalities,  and  latterly  as  one  kingdom,  speaking 
the  language,  and  observing  the  laws,  of  most  of  those  who  now  form  your 
imperial  body-guard  of  Varangians,  or  exiles.  In  process  of  time,  the 
Northmen  became  known  to  the  people  of  the  more  southern  climates. 
They  were  so  called  from  their  coming  from  the  distant  regions  of  the  Baltic 
Sea  —  an  immense  ocean,  sometimes  frozen  with  ice  as  hard  as  the  cliffs  of 
Mount  Caucasus.  They  came  seeking  milder  regions  than  nature  had  as¬ 
signed  them  at  home ;  and  the  climate  of  France  being  delightful,  and  its 
people  slow  in  battle,  they  extorted  from  them  the  grant  of  a  large  province, 
which  was,  from  the  name  of  the  new  settlers,  called  Normandy,  though  I 
have  heard  my  father  say  tha^  was  not  its  proper  appellation.  They  settled 
there  under  a  Duke,  who  acknowledged  the  superior  authority  of  the  King 
of  France,  that  is  to  say,  obeying  him  when  it  suited  his  convenience  so 
to  do. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


67 


“  Now,  it  chanced  many  years  since,  while  these  two  nations  of  Normans 
and  Anglo-Saxons  were  quietly  residing  upon  different  sides  of  the  salt¬ 
water  channel  which  divides  France  from  England,  that  William,  Duke  of 
Normandy,  suddenly  levied  a  large  army,  came  over  to  Kent,  which  is  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  channel,  and  there  defeated  in  a  great  battle, 
Harold,  who  was  at  that  time  King  of  the  Anglo-Saxons.  It  is  but  grief 
to  tell  what  followed.  Battles  have  been  fought  in  old  time,  that  have  had 
dreadful  results,  which  years,  nevertheless,  could  wash  away ;  but  at  Hast¬ 
ings — 0  woe’s  me ! — the  banner  of  my  country  fell,  never  again  to  be  raised 
up.  Oppression  has  driven  her  wheel  over  us.  All  that  was  valiant 
amongst  us  have  left  the  land  ;  and  of  Englishmen — for  such  is  our  proper 
designation — no  one  remains  in  England  save  as  the  thrall  of  the  invaders. 
Many  men  of  Danish  descent,  who  had  found  their  way  on  diflFerent  oc¬ 
casions  to  England,  were  blended  in  the  common  calamity.  All  was  laid 
desolate  by  the  command  of  the  victors.  My  father’s  home  lies  now  an 
undistinguished  ruin,  amid  an  extensive  forest,  composed  out  of  what  were 
formerly  fair  fields  and  domestic  pastures,  where  a  manly  race  derived 
nourishment  by  cultivating  a  friendly  soil.  The  fire  has  destroyed  the 
church  where  sleep  the  fathers  of  my  race ;  and  I,  the  last  of  their  line, 
am  a  wanderer  in  other  climates  —  a  fighter  of  the  battles  of  others — the 
servant  of  a  foreign,  though  a  kind  master ;  in  a  word,  one  of  the  banished 
— a  Varangian.” 

‘‘  Happier  in  that  station,”  said  Achilles  Tatius,  “  than  in  all  the  bar¬ 
baric  simplicity  which  your  forefathers  prized  so  highly,  since  you  are 
now  under  the  cheering  influence  of  that  smile  which  is  the  life  of  the 
world.” 

“  It  avails  not  talking  of  this,”  said  the  Varangian,  with  a  cold  gesture. 

“  These  Normans,”  said  the  Emperor,  “  are  then  the  people  by  whom  the 
celebrated  island  of  Britain  is  now  conquered  and  governed  ?” 

“  It  is  but  too  true,”  answered  the  Varangian. 

“  They  are,  then,  a  brave  and  warlike  people  ?” — said  Alexius. 

“  It  would  be  base  and  false  to  say  otherwise  of  an  enemy,”  said  Here- 
ward.  “Wrong  have  they  done  me,  and  a  wrong  never  to  be  atoned;  but 
to  speak  falsehood  of  them  were  but  a  woman’s  vengeance.  Mortal  enemies 
as  they  are  to  me,  and  mingling  with  all  my  recollections  as  that  which  is 
hateful  and  odious,  yet  were  the  troops  of  Europe  mustered,  as  it  seems 
they  are  likely  to  be,  no  nation  or  tribe  dared  in  gallantry  claim  the  advance 
of  the  haughty  Norman.” 

“  And  this  Duke  Robert,  who  is  he  ?” 

“  That,”  answered  the  Varangian,  “  I  cannot  so  w^ell  explain.  He  is  the 
son — the  eldest  son,  as  men  say,  of  the  tyrant  William,  who  subdued  Eng¬ 
land  when  I  hardly  existed,  or  was  a  child  in  the  cradle.  That  William, 
the  victor  of  Hastings,  is  now  dead,  we  are  assured  by  concurring  testi¬ 
mony  ;  but  while  it  seems  his  eldest  son  Duke  Robert  has  become  his  heir 
to  the  Duchy  of  Normandy,  some  other  of  his  children  have  been  so  fortu¬ 
nate  as  to  acquire  the  throne  of  England,  —  unless,  indeed,  like  the  petty 
farm  of  some  obscure  yeoman,  the  fair  kingdom  has  been  divided  among 
the  tyrant’s  issue.” 

“  Concerning  this,”  said  the  Emperor,  “  we  have  heard  something,  which 
w'e  shall  try  to  reconcile  with  the  soldier’s  narrative  at  leisure,  holding  the 
words  of  this  honest  Varangian  as  positive  proof,  in  whatsoever  he  avers 
from  his  own  knowledge. — And  now,  my  grave  and  worthy  counsellors,  we 
must  close  this  evening’s  service  in  the  Temple  of  the  Muses,  this  distress¬ 
ing  news,  brought  us  by  our  dearest  son-in-law  the  Caesar,  having  induced 
us  to  prolong  our  worship  of  these  learned  goddesses,  deeper  into  the  night 
than  is  consistent  with  the  health  of  our  beloved  wife  and  daughter;  while 
to  ourselves,  this  intelligence  brings  subject  for  grave  deliberation.” 

The  courtiers  exhausted  their  ingenuity  in  forming  the  most  ingenious 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


68 

prayers,  that  all  evil  consequences  should  be  averted  which  could  attend 
this  excessive  vigilance. 

Nicephorus  and  his  fair  bride  spoke  together  as  a  pair  equally  desirous 
to  close  an  accidental  breach  between  them.  “  Some  things  thou  hast  said, 
'my  Caesar, observed  the  lady,  “in  detailing  this  dreadful  intelligence,  as 
elegantly  turned  as  if  the  nine  goddesses,  to  whom  this  temple  is  dedicated, 
had  lent  each  her  aid  to  the  sense  and  expression.” 

“  I  need  none  of  their  assistance,”  answered  Nicephorus,  “  since  I  pos¬ 
sess  a  muse  of  my  own,  in  whose  genius  are  included  all  those  attributes 
which  the  heathens  vainly  ascribed  to  the  nine  deities  of  Parnassus !” 

“  It  is  well,”  said  the  fair  historian,  retiring  by  the  assistance  of  her 
husband’s  arm  ;  “  but  if  you  will  load  your  wife  with  praises  far  beyond 
her  merits,  you  must  lend  her  your  arm  to  support  her  under  the  weighty 
burden  you  have  been  pleased  to  impose.”  The  council  parted  when  the 
imperial  persons  had  retired,  and  most  of  them  sought  to  indemnify  them¬ 
selves  in  more  free  though  less  dignified  circles,  for  the  constraint  which 
they  had  practised  in  the  Temple  of  the  Muses. 


(CjinptBT  tjit  liitli. 

Vain  man!  thou  maysl  esteem  thy  love  as  fair 
As  fond  hyperboles  suffice  to  raise. 

She  may  be  all  that’s  matchless  in  her  person, 

And  all-divine  in  soul  to  match  her  body; 

But  take  this  from  me  —  thou  shalt  never  call  her 
Superior  to  her  sex,  while  one  survives, 

And  I  am  her  true  votary. 

Old  Play, 

Achilles  Tatius,  with  his  faithful  Varangian  close  by  his  shoulder, 
melted  from  the  dispersing  assembly  silently  and  almost  invisibly,  as  snow 
is  dissolved  from  its  Alpine  abodes  as  the  days  become  more  genial.  No 
lordly  step,  nor  clash  of  armour,  betokened  the  retreat  of  the  military  per¬ 
sons.  The  very  idea  of  the  necessity  of  guards  was  not  ostentatiously 
brought  forward,  because,  so  near  the  presence  of  the  Emperor,  the  emana¬ 
tion  supposed  to  flit  around  that  divinity  of  earthly  sovereigns,  had  credit 
for  rendering  it  impassive  and  unassailable.  Thus  the  oldest  and  most 
skilful  courtiers,  among  whom  our  friend  Agelastes  was  not  to  be  forgotten, 
were  of  opinion,  that,  although  the  Emperor  employed  the  ministry  of  the 
Varangians  and  other  guards,  it  was  rather  for  form’s  sake,  than  from  any 
danger  of  the  commission  of  a  crime  of  a  kind  so  heinous,  that  it  was  the 
fashion  to  account  it  almost  impossible.  And  this  doctrine,  of  the  rare  oc¬ 
currence  of  such  a  crime,  was  repeated  from  month  to  month  in  those  very 
chambers,  where  it  had  oftener  than  once  been  perpetrated,  and  sometimes 
by  the  very  persons  who  monthly  laid  schemes  for  carrying  some  dark  con¬ 
spiracy  against  the  reigning  Emperor  into  positive  execution. 

At  length  the  captain  of  the  life-guardsmen,  and  his  faithful  attendant, 
found  themselves  on  the  outside  of  the  Blacquernal  Palace.  The  passage 
which  Achilles  found  for  their  exit,  was  closed  by  a  postern  which  a  single 
Varangian  shut  behind  them,  drawing,  at  the  same  time,  bolt  and  bar  with 
an  ill-omened  and  jarring  sound.  Looking  back  at  the  mass  of  turrets,  bat¬ 
tlements,  and  spires,  out  of  wl^ich  they  had  at  length  emerged,  Here  ward 
could  not  but  feel  his  heart  lighten  to  find  himself  once  more  under  the  deep 
blue  of  a  Grecian  heaven,  where  the  planets  were  burning  with  unusual 
lustre.  He  sighed  and  rubbed  his  hands  with  pleasure,  like  a  man  newly 


COUNT  KOBE  11 T  OF  PARIS. 


G9 


restored  to  liberty.  lie  even  spoke  to  bis  leader,  contrary  to  bis  custom 
unless  addressed:  —  “Methinks  the  air  of  yonder  halls,  valorous  Captain, 
carries  with  it  a  perfume,  which,  though  it  may  be  well  termed  sweet,  is  so 
suffocating,  as  to  be  more  suitable  to  sepulchrous  chambers,  than  to  the 
dwellings  of  men.  Happy  I  am  that  I  am  free,  as  I  trust,  from  its  influ¬ 
ences.’' 

“Be  happy,  then,”  said  Achilles  Tatius,  “since  thy  vile,  cloddish  spirit 
feels  suffocation  rather  than  refreshment  in  gales,  which,  instead  of  causing 
death,  might  recall  the  dead  themselves  to  life.  Yet  this  I  will  say  for  thee, 
llereward,  that,  born  a  barbarian,  within  the  narrow  circle  of  a  savage’s 
desires  and  pleasures,  and  having  no  idea  of  life,  save  what  thou  derivest 
from  such  vile  and  base  connexions,  thou  art,  nevertheless,  designed  by 
nature  for  better  things,  and  hast  this  day  sustained  a  trial,  in  which,  I  fear 
me,  not  even  one  of  mine  own  noble  corps,  frozen  as  they  are  into  lumps  of 
unfashioned  barbarity,  could  have  equalled  thy  bearing.  And  speak  now 
in  true  faith,  hast  not  thou  been  rewarded  ?” 

“  That  will  I  never  deny,”  said  the  Varangian.  “  The  pleasure  of  know¬ 
ing,  twenty-four  hours  perhaps  before  my  comrades,  that  the  Normans  are 
coming  hither  to  afford  us  a  full  revenge  of  the  bloody  day  of  Hastings,  is 
a  lordly  recompense,  for  the  task  of  spending  some  hours  in  hearing  the 
lengthened  chat  of  a  lady,  who  has  written  about  she  knows  not  what,  and 
the  flattering  commentaries  of  the  bystanders,  who  pretended  to  give  her 
an  account  of  what  they  did  not  themselves  stop  to  witness.” 

“  llereward,  my  good  youth,”  said  Achilles  Tatius,  “  thou  ravest,  and  I 
think  1  should  do  well  to  place  thee  under  the  custody  of  spme  person  of 
skill.  Too  much  hardihood,  my  valiant  soldier,  is  in  soberness  allied  to 
over-daring.  It  was  only  natural  that  thou  shouldst  feel  a  becoming  pride 
in  thy  late  position ;  yet,  let  it  but  taint  thee  with  vanity,  and  the  effect 
will  be  little  short  of  madness.  Why,  thou  hast  looked  boldly  in  the  face 
of  a  Princess  born  in  the  purple,  before  whom  my  own  eyes,  though  well 
used  to  such  spectacles,  are  never  raised  beyond  the  foldings  of  her  veil.” 

“  So  be  it  in  the  name  of  Heaven  !”  replied  llereward.  “  Nevertheless, 
handsome  faces  were  made  to  look  upon,  and  the  eyes  of  young  men  to  see 
withal.” 

“  If  such  be  their  final  end,”  said  Achilles,  “  never  did  thine,  I  will  freely 
suppose,  find  a  richer  apology  for  the  somewhat  overbold  license  which  thou 
tookest  in  thy  gaze  upon  the  Princess  this  evening.” 

“Good  leader,  or  Follower,  whichever  is  your  favourite  title,”  said  the 
Anglo-Briton,  “  drive  not  to  extremity  a  plain  man,  who  desires  to  hold  his 
duty  in  all  honour  to  the  imperial  family.  The  Princess,  wife  of  the  Caesar, 
and  born,  you  tell  me,  of  a  purple  colour,  has  now  inherited,  notwithstand¬ 
ing,  the  features  of  a  most  lovely  woman.  She  hath  composed  a  history, 
of  which  I  presume  not  to  form  a  judgment,  since  I  cannot  understand  it; 
she  sings  like  an  angel ;  and  to  conclude,  after  the  fashion  of  the  knights 
of  this  day — though  I  deal  not  ordinarily  Avith  their  language — I  would  say 
cheerfully,  that  I  am  ready  to  place  myself  in  lists  against  any  one  whom¬ 
soever,  who  dares  detract  from  the  beauty  of  the  imperial  Anna  Comnena’s 
person,  or  from  the  virtues  of  her  mind.  Having  said  this,  my  noble  cap¬ 
tain,  Ave  have  said  all  that  it  is  competent  for  you  to  inquire  into,  or  for  me 
to  ansAver.  That  there  are  hansomer  Avomen  than  the  Princess,  is  unques¬ 
tionable  ;  and  I  question  it  the  less,  that  I  have  myself  seen  a  person  whom 
I  think  far  her  superior ;  and  with  that  let  us  close  the  dialogue.” 

“  Thy  beauty,  thou  unparalleled  fool,”  said  Achilles,  “must,  I  ween,  be 
the  daughter  of  the  large-bodied  northern  boor,  living  next  door  to  him 
upon  whose  farm  was  brought  up  the  person  of  an  ass,  curst  with  such  in- 
tcderable  want  of  judgment.” 

“  You  may  say  your  pleasure,  captain,”  replied  llereward ;  “  because  it 
is  the  safer  for  ns  both  that  thou  canst  not  on  such  a  topic  either  offend  me, 


70 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


who  hold  thy  judgment  as  light  as  thou  canst  esteem  mine,  or  speak  any 
derogation  of  a  person  whom  you  never  saw,  but  whom,  if  you  had  seen, 
perchance  I  might  not  so  patiently  have  brooked  any  reflections  upon,  even 
at  the  hands  of  a  military  superior/^ 

Achilles  Tatius  had  a  good  deal  of  the  penetration  necessary  for  one  in 
his  situation.  lie  never  provoked  to  extremity  the  daring  spirits  whom  he 
commanded,  and  never  used  any  freedom  with  them  beyond  the  extent  that 
he  knew  their  patience  could  bear.  Ilereward  was  a  favourite  soldier,  and 
had,  in  that  respect  at  least,  a  sincere  liking  and  regard  for  his  commander: 
when,  therefore,  the  Follower,  instead  of  resenting  his  petulance,  good- 
humouredly  apologized  for  having  hurt  his  feelings,  the  momentary  dis¬ 
pleasure  between  them  was  at  an  end ;  the  officer  at  once  reassumed  his 
superiority,  and  the  soldier  sunk  back  with  a  deep  sigh,  given  to  some 
period  which  was  long  past,  into  his  wonted  silence  and  reserve.  Indeed 
the  Follower  had  another  and  further  design  upon  Ilereward,  of  which  he 
was  as  yet  unwilling  to  do  more  than  give  a  distant  hint. 

After  a  long  pause,  during  which  they  approached  the  barracks,  a  gloomy 
fortified  building  constructed  for  the  residence  of  their  corps,  the  captain 
motioned  his  soldier  to  draw  close  up  to  his  side,  and  proceeded  to  ask  him, 
in  a  confidential  tone — “  Hereward,  my  friend,  although  it  is  scarce  to  be 
supposed  that  in  the  presence  of  the  imperial  family  thou  shouldst  mark 
any  one  who  did  not  partake  of  their  blood,  or  rather,  as  Homer  has  it,  who 
did  not  participate  of  the  divine  ichor,  which,  in  their  sacred  persons,  sup¬ 
plies  the  place  of  that  vulgar  fluid  ;  yet,  during  so  long  an  audience,  thou 
mightst  possibly,  from  his  uncourtly  person  and  attire,  have  distinguished 
Agelastes,  whom  we  courtiers  call  the  Elephant,  from  his  strict  observation 
of  the  rule  which  forbids  any  one  to  sit  down  or  rest  in  the  Imperial 
presence  V’ 

“  I  think,’^  replied  the  soldier,  “  I  marked  the  man  you  mean ;  his  age 
was  some  seventy  and  upwards,  —  a  big  burly  person  ;  —  and  the  baldness 
which  reached  to  the  top  of  his  head  was  well  atoned  for  by  a  white  beard 
of  prodigious  size,  which  descended  in  waving  curls  over  his  breast,  and 
reached  to  the  towel  with  which  his  loins  were  girded,  instead  of  the  silken 
sash  used  by  other  persons  of  rank.^^ 

“  Most  accurately  marked,  my  Varangian,’^  said  the  officer.  “What  else 
didst  thou  note  about  this  person 

“  His  cloak  was  in  its  texture  as  coarse  as  that  of  the  meanest  of  the 
people,  but  it  was  strictly  clean,  as  if  it  had  been  the  intention  of  the  wearer 
to  exhibit  poverty,  or  carelessness  and  contempt  of  dress,  avoiding,  at  the 
same  time,  every  particular  which  implied  anything  negligent,  sordid,  or 
disgusting.^’ 

“By  St.  Sophia!”  said  the  officer,  “thou  astonishest  me!  The  Prophet 
Baalam  was  not  more  surprised  when  his  ass  turned  round  her  head  and 
spoke  to  him ! — And  what  else  didst  thou  note  concerning  this  man  ?  I  see 
those  who  meet  thee  must  beware  of  thy  observation,  as  well  as  of  thy 
battle-axe.” 

“  If  it  please  your  Valour,”  answered  the  soldier,  “we  English  have  eyes 
as  well  as  hands ;  but  it  is  only  when  discharging  our  duty  that  we  permit 
our  tongues  to  dwell  on  what  we  have  observed.  I  noted  but  little  of  this 
man’s  conversation,  but  from  what  I  heard,  it  seemed  he  was  not  unwilling 
to  play  what  we  call  the  jester,  or  jack-pudding,  in  the  conversation,  a  cha¬ 
racter  which,  considering  the  man’s  age  and  physiognomy,  is  not,  I  should 
be  tempted  to  say,  natural,  but  assumed  for  some  purpose  of  deeper 
import.” 

“  Hereward,”  answered  his  officer,  “  thou  hast  spoken  like  an  angel  sent 
down  to  examine  men’s  bosoms*  that  man,  Agelastes,  is  a  contradiction, 
such  as  earth  has  seldom  witnessed.  Possessing  all  that  wisdom  which  in 
former  times  united  the  sages  of  this  nation  with  the  gods  themselves.  Age- 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  1*ARIS. 


71 


lastes  has  the  same  cunning  as  the  elder  Brutus,  who  disguised  his  talents 
under  the  semblance  of  an  idle  jester.  lie  appears  to  seek  no  office  —  he 
desires  no  consideration — he  pays  suit  at  court  only  w'hen  positively  required 
to  do  80 ;  yet  what  shall  1  say,  my  soldier,  concerning  the  cause  of  an 
influence  gained  without  apparent  effort,  and  extending  almost  into  the  very 
thoughts  of  men,  who  appear  to  act  as  he  would  desire,  without  his  soli¬ 
citing  them  to  that  purpose?  Men  say  strange  things  concerning  the  extent 
of  his  communications  with  other  beings,  whom  our  fathers  worshipped 
with  prayer  and  sacrifice.  I  am  determined,  however,  to  know  the  road  by 
which  he  climbs  so  high  and  so  easily  towards  the  point  to  which  all  men 
aspire  at  court,  and  it  will  go  hard  but  he  shall  either  share  his  ladder  with 
me,  or  I  will  strike  its  support  from  under  him.  Thee,  Ilereward,  I  have 
chosen  to  assist  me  in  this  matter,  as  the  knights  among  these  Frankish 
infidels  select,  Avhen  going  upon  an  adventure,  a  sturdy  squire,  or  inferior 
attendant,  to  share  the  dangers  and  the  recompense ;  and  this  I  am  moved 
to,  as  much  by  the  shrewdness  thou  hast  this  night  manifested,  as  by  the 
courage  which  thou  mayst  boast,  in  common  with,  or  rather  beyond,  thy 
companions.’’ 

“I  am  obliged,  and  I  thank  your  Valour,”  replied  the  Varangian,  more 
coldly  perhaps  than  his  officer  expected  ;  “  I  am  ready,  as  is  my  duty,  to 
serve  you  in  anything  consistent  with  God  and  the  Emperor’s  claims  upon 
my  service.  I  would  only  say,  that,  as  a  sworn  inferior  soldier,  I  will  do 
nothing  contrary  to  the  laws  of  the  empire,  and,  as  a  sincere  though  igno¬ 
rant  Christian,  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  gods  of  the  heathens, 
save  to  defy  them  in  the  name  and  strength  of  the  holy  saints.” 

*•  Idiot!”  said  Achilles  Tatius,  “dost  thou  think  that  I,  already  possessed 
of  one  of  the  first  dignities  of  the  empire,  could  meditate  anything  con- 
trarv  to  the  interests  of  Alexius  Comnenus?  or,  what  would  be  scarce  more 
atrocious,  that  I,  the  chosen  friend  and  ally  of  the  reverend  Patriarch  Zo- 
simus,  should  meddle  with  anything  bearing  a  relation,  however  remote,  to 
heresy  or  idolatry  ?” 

“Truly,”  answered  the  Varangian,  “no  one  would  be  more  surprised  or 
grieved  than  I  should;  but  when  we  walk  in  a  labyrinth,  we  must  assume 
and  announce  that  we  have  a  steady  and  forward  purpose,  which  is  one 
mode  at  least  of  keeping  a  straight  path.  The  people  of  this  country  have 
so  many  ways  of  saying  the  same  thing,  that  one  can  hardly  know  at  last 
what  is  their  real  meaning.  We  English,  on  the  other  hand,  can  only 
express  ourselves  in  one  set  of  words,  but  it  is  one  out  of  which  all  the  inge¬ 
nuity  of  the  world  could  not  extract  a  double  meaning.” 

“  ’Tis  well,”  said  his  officer,  “  to-morrow  we  will  talk  more  of  this,  for 
which  purpose  thou  wilt  come  to  my  quarters  a  little  after  sunset.  And, 
hark  thee,  to-morrow,  while  the  sun  is  in  heaven,  shall  be  thine  own,  either 
to  sport  thyself  or  to  repose.  Employ  thy  time  in  the  latter,  by  my  advice, 
since  to-morrow  night,  like  the  present,  may  find  us  both  watchers.” 

So  saying,  they  entered  the  barracks,  where  they  parted  company — the 
commander  of  the  life-guards  taking  his  way  to  a  splendid  set  of  apartments 
which  belonged  to  him  in  that  capacity,  and  the  Anglo-Saxon  seeking  his 
more  humble  accommodations  as  a  subaltern  officer  of  the  same  corps. 


72 


W  A  V  E  R  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 


(Cjicpth  tjiP  Instil, 

Such  forces  met  not,  nor  so  vast  a  camp, 

When  Agrican,  with  all  his  northern  powers, 

Besieged  Albracca,  as  romances  tell. 

The  city  of  Gallaphron,  from  thence  to  win 
The  fairest  of  her  sex,  Angelica, 

His  daughter,  sought  by  many  prowess’d  knights, 

Both  Paynim,  and  the  Peers  of  Charlemagne. 

Paradise  Regaixed. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  day  following  that  which  we  have  comme¬ 
morated,  the  Imperial  Council  was  assembled,  where  the  number  of  general 
officers  with  sounding  titles,  disguised  under  a  thin  veil  the  real  weakness 
of  the  Grecian  empire.  The  commanders  were  numerous  and  the  dis¬ 
tinctions  of  their  rank  minute,  but  the  soldiers  were  very  few  in  comparison. 

The  offices  formerly  filled  by  prefects,  proetors,  and  questors,  were  now 
held  by  persons  who  had  gradually  risen  into  the  authority  of  those  officers, 
and  who,  though  designated  from  their  domestic  duties  about  the  Emperor, 
yet,  from  that  very  circumstance,  possessed  what,  in  that  despotic  court, 
was  the  most  effectual  source  of  power.  A  long  train  of  officers  entered 
the  great  hall  of  the  Castle  of  Blacquernal,  and  proceeded  so  far  together 
as  their  different  grades  admitted,  while  in  each  chamber  through  which 
they  passed  in  succession,  a  certain  number  of  the  train  whose  rank  per¬ 
mitted  them  to  advance  no  farther,  remained  behind  the  others.  Thus, 
when  the  interior  cabinet  of  audience  was  gained,  which  was  not  until  their 
passage  through  ten  anterooms,  five  persons  only  found  themselves  in  the 
presence  of  the  Emperor  in  this  innermost  and  most  sacred  recess  of  royalty, 
decorated  by  all  the  splendour  of  the  period. 

The  Emperor  Alexius  sat  upon  a  stately  throne,  rich  with  barbaric  gems 
and  gold,  and  flanked  on  either  hand,  in  imitation  probably  of  Solomon’s 
magnificence,  with  the  form  of  a  couch  ant  lion  in  the  same  precious  metal. 
Not  to  dwell  upon  other  marks  of  splendour,  a  tree  whose  trunk  seemed 
also  of  gold,  sliot  up  behind  the  throne,  which  it  over-canopied  with  its 
branches.  Amid  the  boughs  were  birds  of  various  kinds  curiously  wrought 
and  enamelled,  and  fruit  composed  of  precious  stones  seemed  to  glisten 
among  the  leaves.  Five  officers  alone,  the  highest  in  the  state,  had  the  pri¬ 
vilege  of  entering  this  sacred  recess  when  the  Emperor  held  council.  These 
were  —  the  Grand  Domestic,  who  might  be  termed  of  rank  with  a  modern 
prime  minister — the  Logothete,  or  chancellor — the  Protospathaire,  or  com¬ 
mander  of  the  guards,  already  mentioned  —  the  Acolyte,  or  Follower,  and 
leader  of  the  Varangians  —  and  the  Patriarch. 

The  doors  of  this  secret  apartment,  and  the  adjacent  antechamber,  were 
guarded  by  six  deformed  Nubian  slaves,  whose  writhen  and  withered  coun¬ 
tenances  formed  a  hideous  contrast  with  their  snow-white  dresses  and 
splendid  equipment.  They  were  mutes,  a  species  of  wretches  borrowed 
from  the  despotism  of  the  East,  that  they  might  be  unable  to  proclaim  the 
deeds  of  tyranny  of  which  they  were  the  unscrupulous  agents.  They  were 
generally  held  in  a  kind  of  horror,  rather  than  compassion,  for  men  con¬ 
sidered  that  slaves  of  this  sort  had  a  malignant  pleasure  in  avenging  upon 
others  the  irreparable  wrongs  which  had  severed  themselves  from  humanity. 

It  was  a  general  custom,  though,  like  many  other  usages  of  the  Greeks, 
it  would  be  held  childish  in  modern  times,  that  by  means  of  machinery 
easily  conceived,  the  lions,  at  the  entrance  of  a  stranger,  were  made,  as  it 
Avere,  to  rouse  themselves  and  toar,  after  which  a  wind  seemed  to  rustle  the 
foliage  of  the  tree,  the  birds  hopped  from  branch  to  branch,  pecked  the  fruit, 
and  appeared  to  fill  the  chamber  with  their  carolling.  This  display  had 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


73 


alarmed  many  an  ipinorant  foreign  ambassador,  and  even  the  Grecian  coun- 
eellors  themselves  were  expectecl  to  display  the  same  sensations  of  fear,  suc¬ 
ceeded  by  surprise,  when  they  heard  the  roar  of  the  lions,  followed  by  the 
concert  of  the  birds,  although  perhaps  it  was  for  the  fiftieth  time.  On  this 
occasion,  as  a  proof  of  the  urgency  of  the  present, meeting  of  the  council, 
these  ceremonies  were  entirely  omitted. 

The  speech  of  the  Emperor  himself  seemed  to  supply  by  its  commence¬ 
ment  the  bellowing  of  the  lions,  while  it  ended  in  a  strain  more  resembling 
the  warbling  of  the  birds. 

In  his  first  sentences,  he  treated  of  the  audacity  and  unheard-of  boldness 
of  the  millions  of  Franks,  who,  under  the  pretence  of  wresting  Palestine 
from  the  infidels,  had  ventured  to  invade  the  sacred  territories  of  the  empire, 
lie  threatened  them  with  such  chastisement  as  his  innumerable  forces  and 
officers  would,  he  affirmed,  find  it  easy  to  inflict.  To  all  this  the  audience, 
and  especially  the  military  officers,  gave  symptoms  of  ready  assent. 

Alexius,  however,  did  not  long  persist  in  the  warlike  intentions  which  he 
at  first  avowed.  The  Franks,  he  at  length  seemed  to  reflect,  were,  in  pro¬ 
fession,  Christians.  They  might  possibly  be  serious  in  their  pretext  of  the 
crusade,  in  which  case  their  motives  claimed  a  degree  of  indulgence,  and, 
although  erring,  a  certain  portion  of  respect.  Their  numbers  also  w’ere 
great,  and  their  valour  could  not  be  despised  by  those  who  had  seen  them 
fight  at  Durazzo,*  and  elsewhere.  They  might  also,  by  the  permission  of 
Supreme  Providence,  be,  in  the  long  run,  the  instruments  of  advantage  to 
the  most  sacred  empire,  though  they  approached  it  with  so  little  ceremony. 
He  had,  therefore,  mingling  the  virtues  of  prudence,  humanity,  and  gene¬ 
rosity,  with  that  valour  which  must  always  burn  in  the  heart  of  an  Em¬ 
peror,  formed  a  plan,  which  he  was  about  to  submit  to  their  consideration, 
for  present  execution ;  and,  in  the  first  place,  he  requested  of  the  Grand 
Domestic,  to  let  him  know  what  forces  he  might  count  upon  on  the  western 
side  of  the  Bosphorus. 

“  Innumerable  are  the  forces  of  the  empire  as  the  stars  in  heaven,  or  the 
sand  on  the  sea-shore,^'  answered  the  Grand  Domestic. 

“  That  is  a  goodly  answer,^^  said  the  Emperor,  “  provided  there  were 
strangers  present  at  this  conference ;  but  since  we  hold  consultation  in  pri¬ 
vate,  it  is  necessary  that  I  know  precisely  to  what  number  that  army 
amounts  which  I  have  to  rely  upon.  Reserve  your  eloquence  till  some  fitter 
time,  and  let  me  know  what  you,  at  this  present  moment,  mean  by  the  word 
innumerable  1” 

The  Grand  Domestic  paused,  and  hesitated  for  a  short  space ;  but  as  he 
became  aware  that  the  moment  was  one  in  which  the  Emperor  could  not  be 
trifled  with,  (for  Alexius  Comnenus  was  at  times  dangerous,)  he  answered 
thus,  but  not  without  hesitation.  “  Imperial  master  and  lord,  none  better 
knows  that  such  an  answer  cannot  be  hastily  made,  if  it  is  at  the  same  time 
to  be  correct  in  its  results.  The  number  of  the  imperial  host  betwixt  tliis 
city  and  the  western  frontier  of  the  empire,  deducting  those  absent  on  fur¬ 
lough,  cannot  be  counted  upon  as  amounting  to  more  than  twenty-five  thou¬ 
sand  men,  or  thirty  thousand  at  most.^^ 

Alexius  struck  his  forehead  with  his  hand ;  and  the  counsellors,  seeing 
him  give  way  to  such  violent  expressions  of  grief  and  surprise,  began  to 
enter  into  discussions,  which  they  would  otherwise  have  reserved  for  a  fitter 
place  and  time. 

“  By  the  trust  your  Highness  reposes  in  me,”  said  the  Logothete,  “  there 
has  been  drawn  from  your  Highness's  cofiers  during  the  last  year,  gold 
enough  to  pay  double  the  number  of  the  armed  warriors  whom  the  Grand 
Domestic  now  mentions.” 

“  Your  Imperial  Highness,”  retorted  the  impeached  minister,  with  no 

*  For  the  battle  of  Durazzo,  Oct.  1081,  in  which  Alexius  was  defeated  with  great  slaughter  by  Robert 
Guiscard,  and  escajied  only  by  the  swiftness  of  his  horse,  see  Giblion,  ch.  56. 

O 


74 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


small  animation,  “will  at  once  remember  the  stationary  garrisons,  in 
addition  to  the  movable  troops,  for  which  this  figure-caster  makes  no 
allowance/^ 

“  Peace,  both  of  you!”  said  Alexius,  composing  himself  hastily ;  “our 
actual  numbers  are  in  truth  less  than  we  counted  on,  but  let  us  not  by 
wrangling  augment  the  difficulties  of  the  time.  Let  those  troops  be  dis¬ 
persed  in  valleys,  in  passes,  behind  ridges  of  hills,  and  in  difficult  ground, 
where  a  little  art  being  used  in  the  position,  can  make  few  men  supply  the 
appearance  of  numbers,  between  this  city  and  the  western  frontier  of  the 
empire.  While  this  disposal  is  made,  we  will  continue  to  adjust  with  these 
crusaders,  as  they  call  themselves,  the  terms  on  which  we  will  consent  to 
let  them  pass  through  our  dominions ;  nor  are  we  without  hope  of  nego¬ 
tiating  with  them,  so  as  to  gain  great  advantage  to  our  kingdom.  We  will 
insist  that  they  pass  through  our  country  only  by  armies  of  perhaps  fifty 
thousand  at  once,  whom  we  will  successively  transport  into  Asia,  so  that  no 
greater  number  shall,  by  assembling  beneath  our  walls,  ever  endanger  the 
safety  of  the  metropolis  of  the  world. 

“  On  their  way  towards  the  banks  of  the  Bosphorus,  we  will  supply  them 
with  provisions,  if  they  march  peaceably,  and  in  order ;  and  if  any  straggle 
from  their  standards,  or  insult  the  country  by  marauding,  we  suppose  our 
valiant  peasants  will  not  hesitate  to  repress  their  excesses,  and  that  without 
our  giving  positive  orders,  since  we  would  not  willingly  be  charged  with  any 
thing  like  a  breach  of  engagement.  We  suppose,  also,  that  the  Scythians, 
Arabs,  Syrians,  and  other  mercenaries  in  our  service,  will  not  suffer  our 
subjects  to  be  overpowered  in  their  own  just  defence  ;  as,  besides  that  there 
is  no  justice  in  stripping  our  own  country  of  provisions,  in  order  to  feed 
strangers,  we  will  not  be  surprised  nor  unpardonably  displeased  to  learn, 
that  of  the  ostensible  quantity  of  flour,  some  sacks  should  be  found  filled 
with  chalk,  or  lime,  or  some  such  substance.  It  is,  indeed,  truly  wonderful, 
what  the  stomach  of  a  Frank  will  digest  comfortably.  Their  guides,  also, 
whom  you  shall  choose  with  reference  to  such  duty,  will  take  care  to  con¬ 
duct  the  crusaders  by  difficult  and  circuitous  routes ;  which  will  be  doing 
them  a  real  service,  by  inuring  them  to  the  hardships  of  the  country  and 
climate,  which  they  would  otherwise  have  to  face  without  seasoning. 

“  In  the  meantime,  in  your  intercourse  with  their  chiefs,  whom  they  call 
counts,  each  of  whom  thinks  himself  as  great  as  an  Emperor,  you  will  take 
care  to  give  no  offence  to  their  natural  presumption,  and  omit  no  opportunity 
of  informing  them  of  the  wealth  and  bounty  of  our  government.  Sums  of 
money  may  be  even  given  to  persons  of  note,  and  largesses  of  less  avail  to 
those  under  them.  You,  our  Logothete,  will  take  good  order  for  this,  and 
you,  our  Grand  Domestic,  will  take  care  that  such  soldiers  as  may  cut  off 
detached  parties  of  the  Franks  shall  be  presented,  if  possible,  in  savage 
dress,  and  under  the  show  of  infidels.  In  commending  these  injunctions  to 
your  care,  I  purpose  that,  the  crusaders  having  found  the  value  of  our 
friendship,  and  also  in  some  sort  the  danger  of  our  enmity,  those  whom  we 
shall  safely  transport  to  Asia,  shall  be,  however  unwieldy,  still  a  smaller 
and  more  compact  body,  whom  we  may  deal  with  in  all  Christian  prudence. 
Thus,  by  using  fair  words  to  one,  threats  to  another,  gold  to  the  avaricious,, 
power  to  the  ambitious,  and  reasons  to  those  that  are  capable  of  listening 
to  them,  we  doubt  not  but  to  prevail  upon  those  Franks,  met  as  they  are 
from  a  thousand  points,  and  enemies  of  each  other,  to  acknowledge  us  as 
their  common  superior,  rather  than  choose  a  leader  among  themselves,  when 
they  are  made  aware  of  the  great  fact,  that  every  village  in  Palestine,  from 
Dan  to  Beersheba,  is  the  original  property  of  the  sacred  Homan  empire, 
and  that  whatever  Christian  goes  to  war  for  their  recovery,  must  go  as  our 
subject,  and  hold  any  conquest  which  he  may  make,  as  our  vassal.  Vice 
and  virtue,  sense  and  folly,  ambition  and  disinterested  devotion,  will  alike 
recommend  to  the  survivors  of  these  singular-minded  men,  to  become  the 


COUNT  11 OBERTOF  P^'.RIS.  75 

feudatories  of  the  empire,  not  its  foe,  and  the  shield,  not  the  enemy,  of  your 
paternal  Plmperor/' 

There  was  a  general  inclination  of  the  head  among  the  courtiers,  with 
the  Eastern  acclamation  of,  —  “Long  live  the  Emperor!’’ 

When  the  murmur  of  this  applausive  exclamation  had  subsided,  Alexius 
proceeded:  —  “Once  more,  I  say,  that  my  faithful  Grand  Domestic,  and 
those  who  act  under  him,  will  take  care  to  commit  the  execution  of  such 
part  of  these  orders  as  may  seem  aggressive,  to  troops  of  foreign  appearance 
and  language,  which,  I  grieve  to  say,  are  more  numerous  in  our  imperial 
army  than  our  natural-born  and  orthodox  subjects.” 

The  Patriarch  here  interposed  his  opinion. — “  There  is  a  consolation,”  ho 
said,  “  in  the  thought,  that  the  genuine  Romans  in  the  imperial  army  are 
but  few,  since  a  trade  so  bloody  as  war,  is  most  fitly  prosecuted  by  those 
whose  doctrines,  as  well  as  their  doings,  on  earth,  merit  eternal  condemna¬ 
tion  in  the  next  world.” 

“  Reverend  Patriarch,”  said  the  Emperor,  “  we  would  not  willingly  hold 
with  the  wild  infidels,  that  Paradise  is  to  be  gained  by  the  sabre ;  neverthe¬ 
less,  we  would  hope  that  a  Roman  dying  in  battle  for  his  religion  and  his 
Emperor,  may  find  as  good  hope  of  acceptation,  after  the  mortal  pang  is 
over,  as  a  man  who  dies  in  peace,  and  with  unblooded  hand.” 

“  It  is  enough  for  me  to  say,”  resumed  the  Patriarch,  “  that  the  Church’s 
doctrine  is  not  so  indulgent :  she  is  herself  peaceful,  and  her  promises  of 
favour  are  for  those  who  have  been  men  of  peace.  Yet  think  not  I  bar  the 
gates  of  Heaven  against  a  soldier,  as  such,  if  believing  all  the  doctrines  of 
our  Church,  and  complying  with  all  our  observances  ;  far  less  would  I  con¬ 
demn  your  Imperial  Majesty’s  wise  precautions,  both  for  diminishing  the 
power  and  thinning  the  ranks  of  those  Latin  heretics,  who  come  hither  to 
despoil  us,  and  plunder  perhaps  both  church  and  temple,  under  the  vain 
protext  that  Heaven  would  permit  them,  stained  with  so  many  heresies,  to 
reconquer  that  Holy  Land,  which  true  orthodox  Christians,  your  Majesty’s 
sacred  predecessors,  have  not  been  enabled  to  retain  from  the  infidel.  And 
well  I  trust  that  no  settlement  made  under  the  Latins  will  be  permitted  by 
your  Majesty  to  establish  itself,  in  which  the  Cross  shall  not  be  elevated 
with  limbs  of  the  same  length,  instead  of  that  irregulqr  and  most  damnable 
error  which  prolongs,  in  western  churches,  the  nether  limb  of  that  most 
holy  emblem.” 

“Reverend  Patriarch,”  answered  the  Emperor,  “do  not  deem  that  wo 
think  lightly  of  your  weighty  scruples ;  but  the  question  is  now,  not  in 
what  manner  we  may  convert  these  Latin  heretics  to  the  true  faith,  but  how 
we  may  avoid  being  overrun  by  their  myriads,  which  resemble  those  of  the 
locusts  by  which  their  approach  was  preceded  and  intimated.” 

“  Your  Majesty,”  said  the  Patriarch,  “  will  act  with  your  usual  wisdom  ; 
for  my  part,  I  have  only  stated  my  doubts,  that  I  may  save  my  own  soul 
alive.” 

“Our  construction,”  said  the  Emperor,  “  does  your  sentiments  no  wrong, 
most  reverend  Patriarch  ;  and  you,”  addressing  himself  to  the  other  coun¬ 
sellors,  “  will  attend  to  these  separate  charges  given  out  for  directing  the 
execution  of  the  commands  which  have  been  generally  intimated  to  you. 
They  are  written  out  in  the  sacred  ink,  and  our  sacred  subscription  is  duly 
marked  with  the  fitting  tinge  of  green  and  purple.  Let  them,  therefore,  be 
strictly  obeyed.  Ourselves  will  assume  the  command  of  such  of  the  Im¬ 
mortal  Rands  as  remain  in  the  city,  and  join  to  them  the  cohorts  of  our 
faithful  Varangians,  At  the  head  of  these  troops,  we  will  await  the  arrival 
of  these  strangers  under  the  walls  of  the  city,  and,  avoiding  combat  while 
our  policy  can  postpone  it,  we  will  be  ready,  in  case  of  the  worst,  to  take 
whatsoever  chance  it  shall  please  the  Almighty  to  send  us.” 

Here  the  council  broke  up,  and  the  diffiu’ont  chiefs  began  to  exert  them¬ 
selves  in  the  execution  of  their  various  instructions,  civil  and  military, 


76 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


secret  or  public,  favourable  or  hostile  to  the  crusaders.  The  peculiar  genius 
of  the  Grecian  people  was  seen  upon  this  occasion.  Their  loud  and  boastful 
talking  corresponded  with  the'  ideas  which  the  Emperor  wished  to  enforce 
upon  the  crusaders  concerning  the  extent  of  his  power  and  resources.  Nor 
is  it  to  be  disguised,  that  the  wily  selfishness  of  most  of  those  in  the  service 
of  Alexius,  endeavoured  to  find  some  indirect  way  of  applying  the  imperial 
instruction,  so  as  might  best  suit  their  own  private  ends. 

Meantime,  the  news  had  gone  abroad  in  Constantinople  of  the  arrival  of 
the  huge  miscellaneous  army  of  the  west  upon  the  limits  of  the  Grecian 
empire,  and  of  their  purpose  to  pass  to  Palestine.  A  thousand  reports 
magnified,  if  that  was  possible,  an  event  so  wonderful.  Some  said,  that 
their  ultimate  view  was  the  conquest  of  Arabia,  the  destruction  of  the 
Prophet's  tomb,  and  the  conversion  of  his  green  banner  into  a  horse-cloth 
for  the  King  of  France's  brother.  Others  supposed  that  the  ruin  and  sack 
of  Constantinople  'was  the  real  object  of  the  war.  A  third  class  thought  it 
was  in  order  to  compel  the  Patriarch  to  submit  himself  to  the  Pope,  adopt 
the  Latin  form  of  the  cross,  and  put  an  end  to  the  schism. 

The  Varangians  enjoyed  an  addition  to  this  wonderful  news,  seasoned  as 
it  everywhere  was  with  something  peculiarly  suited  to  the  prejudices  of  the 
hearers.  It  was  gathered  originally  from  what  our  friend  Hereward,  who 
was  one  of  their  inferior  officers,  called  sergeants  or  constables,  had  suflfered 
to  transpire  of  what  he  had  heard  the  preceding  evening.  Considering 
that  the  fact  must  be  soon  matter  of  notoriety,  he  had  no  hesitation  to  give 
his  comrades  to  understand  that  a  Norman  army  was  coming  hither  under 
Duke  Robert,  the  son  of  the  far-famed  William  the  Conqueror,  and  Muth 
hostile  intentions,  he  concluded,  against  them  in  particular.  Like  all  other 
men  in  peculiar  circumstances,  the  Varangians  adopted  an  explanation 
applicable  to  their  own  condition.  These  Normans,  who  hated  the  Saxon 
nation,  and  had  done  so  much  to-  dishonour  and  oppress  them,  were  now 
following  them,  they  supposed,  to  the  foreign  capital  where  they  had  found 
refuge,  with  the  purpose  of  making  war  on  the  bountiful  prince  who  pro¬ 
tected  their  sad  remnant.  Under  this  belief,  many  a  deep  oath  was  sworn 
in  Norse  and  Anglo-Saxon,  that  their  keen  battle-axes  should  avenge  the 
slaughter  of  Hastings,  and  many  a  pledge,  both  in  wine  and  ale,  was  quaffed 
who  should  most  deeply  resent,  and  most  effectually  revenge,  the  wrongs 
which  the  Anglo-Saxons  of  England  had  received  at  the  hand  of  their  op¬ 
pressors. 

Hereward,  the  author  of  this  intelligence,  began  soon  to  be  sorry  that  he 
had  ever  suffered  it  to  escape  him,  so  closely  was  he  cross-examined  con¬ 
cerning  its  precise  import,  by  the  enquiries  of  his  comrades,  from  whom  he 
thought  himself  obliged  to  keep  concealed  the  adventures  of  the  preceding 
evening,  and  the  place  in  which  he  had  gained  his  information. 

About  noon,  when  he  was  effectually  tired  with  returning  the  same  answer 
to  the  same  questions,  and  evading  similar  others  which  were  repeatedly 
put  to  him,  the  sound  of  trumpets  announced  the  presence  of  the  Acolyte, 
Achilles  Tatius,  who  came  immediately,  it  was  industriously  whispered, 
from  the  sacred  Interior,  with  news  of  the  immediate  approach  of  war. 

The  *Varangians,  and  the  Roman  bands  called  Immortal,  it  was  said, 
were  to  form  a  camp  under  the  city,  in  order  to  be  prompt  to  defend  it  at 
the  shortest  notice.  This  put  the  whole  barracks  into  commotion,  each 
man  making  the  necessary  provision  for  the  approaching  campaign.  The 
noise  was  chiefly  that  of  joyful  bustle  and  acclamation;  and  it  was  so 
general,  that  Hereward,  whose  rank  permitted  him  to  commit  to  a  page  or 
esquire  the  task  of  preparing  his  equipments,  took  the  opportunity  to  leave 
the  barracks,  in  order  to  seek  some  distant  place  apart  from  his  comrades, 
and  enjoy  his  solitary  reflections  upon  the  singular  connexion  into  which 
he  had  been  drawn,  and  his  direct  communication  with  the  Imperial 
family. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


77 


Passing  through  the  narrow  streets,  then  deserted  on  account  of  the  heat 
of  the  sun,  he  reached  at  length  one  of  those  hroad  terraces,  which,  descend¬ 
ing  as  it  were  by  steps,  upon  the  margin  of  the  Bosphorus,  formed  one  of 
the  most  splendid  walks  in  the  universe,  and  still,  it  is  believed,  preserved 
as  a  public  promenade  for  the  pleasure  of  the  Turks,  as  formerly  for  that 
of  the  Christians.  These  graduated  terraces  were  planted  with  many  trees, 
among  which  the  cypress,  as  usual,  was  most  generally  cultivated.  Hero 
bands  of  the  inhabitants  w^ere  to  be  seen  :  some  passing  to  and  fro,  witli 
business  and  anxiety  in  their  faces ;  some  standing  still  in  groups,  as  if 
discussing  the  strange  and  weighty  tidings  of  the  day,  and  some,  with  the 
indolent  carelessness  of  an  eastern  climate,  eating  their  noontide  refresh¬ 
ment  in  the  shade,  and  spending  their  time  as  if  their  sole  object  was  to 
make  much  of  the  day  as  it  passed,  and  let  the  cares  of  to-morrow  answer 
for  themselves. 

While  the  Varangian,  afraid  of  meeting  some  acquaintance  in  this  con¬ 
course,  which  would  have  been  inconsistent  with  the  desire  of  seclusion 
which  had  brought  him  thither,  descended  or  passed  from  one  terrace  to 
another,  all  marked  him  with  looks  of  curiosity  and  enquiry,  considering 
him  to  be  one,  who,  from  his  arms  and  connexion  with  the  court,  must 
necessarily  know  more  than  others  concerning  the  singular  invasion  by 
numerous  enemies,  and  from  various  quarters,  which  was  the  news  of  the 
day. 

None,  however,  had  the  hardihood  to  address  the  soldier  of  the  guard, 
though  all  looked  at  him  with  uncommon  interest.  He  walked  from  the 
lighter  to  the  darker  alleys,  from  the  more  closed  to  the  more  open  terraces, 
without  interruption  from  any  one,  yet  not  without  a  feeling  that  he  must 
not  consider  himself  as  alone. 

The  desire  that  he  felt  to  be  solitary  rendered  him  at  last  somewhat 
watchful,  so  that  he  became  sensible  that  he  was  dogged  by  a  black  slave, 
a  personage  not  so  unfrequent  in  the  streets  of  Constantinople  as  to  excite 
any  particular  notice.  His  attention,  however,  being  at  length  fixed  on 
this  individual,  he  began  to  be  desirous  to  escape  his  observation ;  and  the 
change  of  place  which  he  had  at  first  adopted  to  avoid  society  in  general, 
he  had  now  recourse  to,  in  order  to  rid  himself  of  this  distant,  though  ap¬ 
parently  watchful  attendant.  Still,  however,  though  he  by  change  of  place 
had  lost  sight  of  the  negro  for  a  few  minutes,  it  was  not  long  ere  he  again 
discovered  him  at  a  distance  too  far  for  a  companion,  but  near  enough  to 
serve  all  the  purposes  of  a  spy.  Displeased  at  this,  the  Varangian  turned 
short  in  his  walk,  and  choosing  a  spot  where  none  was  in  sight  but  the 
object  of  his  resentment,  walked  suddenly  up  to  him,  and  demanded  where¬ 
fore,  and  by  whose  orders,  he  presumed  to  dog  his  footsteps.  The  negro 
answered  in  a  jatgon  as  bad  as  that  in  which  he  was  addressed  though  of 
a  different  kind,  “  that  he  had  orders  to  remark  whither  he  went.^^ 

“  Orders  from  whom  said  the  Varangian. 

“  From  my  master  and  yours, answered  the  negro,  boldly. 

“  Thou  infidel  villain  I”  exclaimed  the  angry  soldier,  “  when  was  it  that 
we  became  fellow-servants,  and  who  is  it  that  thou  darest  to  call  my 
master 

“  One  who  is  master  of  the  world,^'  said  the  slave,  “  since  he  commands 
his  own  passions/' 

“I  shall  scarce  command  mine,"  said  the  Varangian,  “if  thou  repliest 
to  my  earnest  questions  with  thine  affected  quirks  of  philosophy.  Once 
more,  what  dost  thou  want  with  me  ?  and  why  hast  thou  the  boldness  to 
watch  me?" 

“  I  have  told  thee  already,"  said  the  slave,  “  that  1  do  my  master's  com¬ 
mands." 

“But  I  must  know  who  thy  master  is,"  said  Ilcreward. 

“  lie  must  tell  thee  that  himself,"  replied  the  negro ;  “  he  trusts  not  a 

g2 


78 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


poor  slavo  like  me  with  the  purpose  of  the  errands  on  which  he  sends 

“  He  has  left  thee  a  tongue,  however,^^  said  the  Varangian,  “  which  some 
of  thy  countrymen  would,  I  think,  be  glad  to  possess.  Do  not  provoke  me 
to  abridge  it  by  refusing  me  the  information  which  I  have  a  right  to 
demand.” 

The  black  meditated,  as  it  seemed  from  the  grin  on  his  face,  further  eva- 
sions,  when  Ilereward  cut  them  short  by  raising  the  staff  of  his  battle-axe. 
“  Put  me  not,”  he  said,  “  to  dishonour  myself  by  striking  thee  with  this 
weapon,  calculated  for  a  use  so  much  more  noble.” 

“  I  may  not  do  so,  valiant  sir,”  said  the  negro,  laying  aside  an  impudent, 
half-gibing  tone  which  he  had  hitherto  made  use  of,  and  betraying  personal 
fear  in  his  manner.  “  If  you  beat  the  poor  slave  to  death,  you  cannot  learn 
what  his  master  hath  forbid  him  to  tell.  A  short  walk  will  save  your  honour 
the  stain,  and  yourself  the  trouble,  of  beating  what  cannot  resist,  and  me 
the  pain  of  enduring  what  I  can  neither  retaliate  nor  avoid.” 

“Lead  on  then,”  said  the  Varangian.  “Be  assured  thou  shalt  not  fool 
me  by  thy  fair  words,  and  I  will  know  the  person  who  is  impudent  enough 
to  assume  the  right  of  watching  my  motions.” 

The  black  walked  on  with  a  species  of  leer  peculiar  to  his  physiognomy, 
which  might  be  construed  as  expressive  either  of  malice  or  of  mere  humour. 
The  Varangian  followed  him  with  some  suspicion,  for  it  happened  that  he 
had  had  little  intercourse  with  the  unhappy  race  of  Africa,  and  had  not 
totally  overcome  the  feeling  of  surprise  with  which  he  had  at  first  regarded 
them,  when  he  arrived  a  stranger  from  the  north.  So  often  did  this  man  look 
back  upon  him  during  their  walk,  and  with  so  penetrating  and  observing  a 
cast  of  countenance,  that  Hereward  felt  irresistibly  renewed  in  his  mind  the 
English  prejudices,  which  assigned  to  the  demons  the  sable  colour  and  dis¬ 
torted  cast  of  visage  of  his  conductor.  The  scene  into  which  he  was  guided, 
strengthened  an  association  which  was  not  of  itself  unlikely  to  occur  to  the 
ignorant  and  martial  islander. 

The  negro  led  the  way  from  the  splendid  terraced  walks  which  we  have 
described,  to 'a  path  descending  to  the  sea-shore,  when  a  place  appeared, 
which,  far  from  being  trimmed,  like  other  parts  of  the  coast,  into  walks  of 
embankments,  seemed,  on  the  contrary,  abandoned  to  neglect,  and  was 
covered  with  the  mouldering  ruins  of  antiquity,  where  these  had  not  been 
overgrown  by  the  luxuriant  vegetation  of  the  climate.  These  fragments  of 
building,  occupying  a  sort  of  recess  of  the  bay,  were  hidden  by  steep  banks 
on  each  side,  and  although  in  fact  they  formed  part  of  the  city,  yet  they 
were  not  seen  from  any  part  of  it,  and,  embosomed  in  the  manner  we  have 
described,  did  not  in  turn  command  any  view  of  the  churches,  palaces, 
towers,  and  fortifications,  amongst  which  they  lay.  The  sight  of  this  soli¬ 
tary,  and  apparently  deserted  spot,  encumbered  with  ruins,  and  overgrown 
with  cypress  and  other  trees,  situated  as  it  was  in  the  midst  of  a  populous 
"city,  had  something  in  it  impressive  and  awful  to  the  imagination.  The 
ruins  were  of  an  ancient  date,  and  in  the  style  of  a  foreign  people.  The 
gigantic  remains  of  a  portico,  the  mutilated  fragments  of  statues  of  great 
size,  but  executed  in  a  taste  and  attitude  so  narrow  and  barbaric  as  to  seem 
perfectly  the  reverse  of  the  Grecian,  and  the  half-defaced  hieroglyphics 
which  could  be  traced  on  some  part  of  the  decayed  sculpture,  corroborated 
the  popular  account  of  their  origin,  which  we  shall  briefly  detail. 

According  to  tradition,  this  had  been  a  temple  dedicated  to  the  Egyptian 
goddess  Cybele,  built  while  the  Homan  Empire  was  yet  heathen,  and  while 
Constantinople  was  still  called  by  the  name  of  Byzantium.  It  is  well  known 
that  the  superstition  of  the  Egyptians — vulgarly  gross  in  its  literal  meaning 
as  well  as  in  its  mystical  interpretation,  and  peculiarly  the  foundation  of 
many  wild  doctrines,  —  was  (disowned  by  the  principles  of  general  tolera¬ 
tion,  and  the  system  of  polytheism  received  by  Rome,  and  was  excluded  by 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


70 

repeated  laws  from  the  respect  paid  by  the  empire  to  almost  every  other 
religion,  however  extravagant  or  absurd.  Nevertheless,  these  Egyptian 
rites  had  charms  for  the  curious  and  the  superstitious,  and  had,  after  long 
opposition,  obtained  a  footing  in  the  empire. 

Still,  although  tolerated,  the  Egyptian  priests  w'ere  rather  considered  as 
sorcerers  than  as  pontiffs,  and  their  'W'hole  ritual  had  a  nearer  relation  to 
magic  in  popular  estimation,  than  to  any  regular  system  of  devotion. 

Stained  with  these  accusations,  even  among  the  heathen  themselves,  the 
worship  of  Egypt  was  held  in  more  mortal  abhorrence  by  the  Christians, 
than  the  other  and  more  rational  kinds  of  heathen  devotion  ;  that  is,  if  any 
at  all  had  a  right  to  be  termed  so.  The  brutal  worship  of  Apis  and  Cybele 
was  regarded,  not  only  as  a  pretext  for  obscene  and  profligate  pleasures,  but 
as  having  a  direct  tendency  to  open  and  encourage  a  dangerous  commerce 
with  evil  spirits,  who  were  supposed  to  take  upon  themselves,  at  these  un¬ 
hallowed  altars,  the  names  and  characters  of  these  foul  deities.  Not  only, 
therefore,  the  temple  of  Cybele,  with  its  gigantic  portico,  its  huge  and  in¬ 
elegant  statues,  and  its  fantastic  hieroglyphics,  was  thrown  down  and  defaced 
when  the  empire  was  converted  to  the  Christian  faith,  but  the  very  ground 
on  which  it  stood  was  considered  as  polluted  and  unhallowed ;  and  no  Em¬ 
peror  having  yet  occupied  the  site  with  a  Christian  church,  the  place  still 
remained  neglected  and  deserted  as  we  have  described  it. 

The  Varangian  Hereward  was  perfectly  acquainted  with  the  evil  reputa¬ 
tion  of  the  place ;  and  wdien  the  negro  seemed  disposed  to  advance  into  the 
interior  of  the  ruins,  he  hesitated,  and  addressed  his  guide  thus :  —  “  Hark 
thee,  my  black  friend,  these  huge  fantastic  images,  some  having  dogs'  heads, 
some  cows'  heads,  and  some  no  heads  at  all,  are  not  held  reverently  in 
popular  estimation.  Your  own  colour,  also,  my  comrade,  is  greatly  too  like 
that  of  Satan  himself,  to  render  you  an  unsuspicious  companion  amid  ruins, 
in  which  the  false  spirit,  it  is  said,  daily  walks  his  rounds.  Midnight  and 
Noon  are  the  times,  it  is  rumoured,  of  his  appearance.  I  will  go  no  farther 
with  you,  unless  you  assign  me  a  tit  reason  for  so  doing." 

“  In  making  so  childish  a  proposal,"  said  the  negro,  “  you  take  from  me, 
in  efl'ect,  all  desire  to  guide  you  to  my  master.  I  thought  I  spoke  to  a  man 
of  invincible  courage,  and  of  that  good  sense  upon  which  courage  is  best 
founded.  But  your  valour  only  emboldens  you  to  beat  a  black  slave,  who 
has  neither  strength  nor  title  to  resist  you  ;  and  your  courage  is  not  enough 
to  enable  you  to  look  without  trembling  on  the  dark  side  of  a  wall,  even 
when  the  sun  is  in  the  heavens." 

“  Thou  art  insolent,"  said  Hereward,  raising  his  axe. 

“And  thou  art  foolish,"  said  the  negro,  “to  attempt  to  prove  thy  man¬ 
hood  and  thy  wisdom  by  the  very  mode  which  gives  reason  for  calling  them 
both  in  question.  I  have  already  said  there  can  be  little  valour  in  beating 
a  w'retch  like  me ;  and  no  man,  surely,  who  wishes  to  discover  his  way, 
would  begin  by  chasing  away  his  guide." 

“  I  follow  thee"  said  Hereward,  stung  with  the  insinuation  of  cowardice; 
“  but  if  thou  leadest  me  into  a  snare,  thy  free  talk  shall  not  save  thy  bones, 
if  a  thousand  of  thy  complexion,  from  earth  or  hell,  were  standing  ready 
to  back  thee." 

“  Thou  objectest  sorely  to  my  complexion,"  said  the  negro;  “how  know- 
est  thou  that  it  is,  in  fact,  a  thing  to  be  counted  and  acted  upon  as  matter 
of  reality  ?  Thine  own  eyes  daily  apprize  thee,  that  the  colour  of  the  sky 
nightly  changes  from  bright  to  black,  yet  thou  know'est  that  this  is  by  no 
means  owing  to  anyhabitual  colour  of  the  heavens  themselves.  The^  same 
change  that  takes  place  in  the  hue  of  the  heavens,  has  existence  in  the 
tinge  of  the  deep  sea  —  How  canst  thou  tell,  but  what  the  difference  of  my 
colour  from  thine  own  may  be  owing  to  some  deceptions  change  of  a  similar 
nature  —  not  real  in  itself,  but  only  creating  an  apparent  reality  ?" 

“Thou  mayst  have  paiuted  thyself,  no  doubt,"  answered  the  Varangian, 


80 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


upon  reflection,  “  and  thy  blackness,  therefore,  may  be  only  apparent ;  but 
I  think  thy  old  friend  himself  could  hardly  have  presented  these  grinning 
lips,  with  the  white  teeth  and  flattened  nose,  so  much  to  the  life,  unless  that 
peculiarity  of  Nubian  physiognomy,  as  they  call  it,  had  accurately  and 
really  an  existence ;  and  to  save  thee  some  trouble,  my  dark  friend,  I  will 
tell  thee,  that  though  thou  speakest  to  an  uneducated  Varangian,  I  am  not 
entirely  unskilled  in  the  Grecian  art  of  making  subtle  words  pass  upon  the 
hearers  instead  of  reason.’^ 

“  Ay?’^  said  the  negro,  doubtfully,  and  somewhat  surprised;  “and  may 
the  slave  Diogenes  —  for  so  my  master  has  christened  me  —  enquire  into  the 
means  by  which  you  reached  knowledge  so  unusual  V’ 

“  It  is  soon  told,''  replied  Ilereward.  “  My  countryman,  Witikind,  being 
a  constable  of  our  bands,  retired  from  active  service,  and  spent  the  end  of 
a  long  life  in  this  city  of  Constantinople.  Being  past  all  toils  of  battle, 
either  those  of  reality,  as  you  word  it,  or  the  pomp  and  fatigue  of  the  exer¬ 
cising  ground,  the  poor  old  man,  in  despair  of  something  to  pass  his  time, 
attended  the  lectures  of  the  philosophers." 

“And  what  did  he  learn  there?"  said  the  negro;  “for  a  barbarian,  grown 
grey  under  the  helmet,  was  not,  as  I  think,  a  very  hopeful  student  in  our 
schools." 

“  As  much  though,  I  should  think,  as  a  menial  slave,  which  I  understand 
to  be  thy  condition,"  replied  the  soldier.  “  But  I  have  understood  from  him, 
that  the  masters  of  this  idle  science  make  it  their  business  to  substitute,  in 
their  argumentations,  mere  words  instead  of  ideas ;  and  as  they  never  agree 
upon  the  precise  meaning  of  the  former,  their  disputes  can  never  arrive  at 
a  fair  or  settled  conclusion,  since  they  do  not  agree  in  the  language  in  which 
they  express  them.  Their  theories,  as  they  call  them,  are  built  on  the  sand, 
and  the  wind  and  tide  shall  prevail  against  them." 

“  Say  so  to  my  master,"  answered  the  black,  in  a  serious  tone. 

“I  will,"  said  the  Varangian;  “and  he  shall  know  me  as  an  ignorant 
soldier,  having  but  few  ideas,  and  those  only  concerning  my  religion  and 
my  military  duty.  But  out  of  these  opinions  I  will  neither  be  beaten  by  a 
battery  of  sophisms,  nor  cheated  by  the  arts  or  the  terrors  of  the  friends  of 
heathenism,  either  in  this  world  or  the  next." 

“  You  may  speak  your  mind  to  him  then  yourself,"  said  Diogenes.  He 
stepped  aside  as  if  to  make  way  for  the  Varangian,  to  whom  he  motioned 
to  go  forward. 

Ilereward  advanced  accordingly,  by  a  half-worn  and  almost  imperceptible 
path  leading  through  the  long  rough  grass,  and,  turning  round  a  half-demo¬ 
lished  shrine,  which  exhibited  the  remains  of  Apis,  the  bovine  deity,  he 
came  immediately  in  front  of  the  philosopher,  Agelastes,  who,  sitting  among 
the  ruins,  reposed  his  limbs  on  the  grass. 


Cjinjittr  tliE  (0ig!it|i. 

Through  the  vain  webs  which  puzzle  sophists’  skill, 

Plain  sense  and  honest  meaning  work  their  way ; 

So  sink  the  varying  clouds  upon  the  hill, 

When  the  clear  dawning  brightens  into  day. 

Dr.  Watts. 

Tue  old  man  rose  from  the  gr,ound  with  alacrity,  as  Ilereward  approached.’ 
“My  bold  Varangian,"  he  said,  “thou  who  valuest  men  and  things  not  ao 
cording  to  the  false  estimate  ascribed  to  them  in  this  world,  but  to  their 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


81 


real  importance  and  actual  value,  thou  art  welcome,  whatever  has  brought 
thee  hither — thou  art  welcome  to  a  place,  where  it  is  held  the  best  business 
of  philosophy  to  strip  man  of  his  borrowed  ornaments,  and  reduce  him  to 
the  just  value  of  his  own  attributes  of  body  and  mind,  singly  considered/^ 

“  You  are  a  courtier,  sir,^^  said  the  Saxon,  “  and  as  a  permitted  companion 
of  the  Emperor’s  Highness,  you  must  be  aware,  that  there  are  twenty  times 
more  ceremonies  than  such  a  man  as  I  can  be  acquainted  with,  for  regu¬ 
lating  the  different  ranks  in  society ;  while  a  plain  man  like  myself  may  be 
well  excused  from  pushing  himself  into  the  company  of  those  above  him, 
where  he  does  not  exactly  know  how  he  should  comport  himself.” 

“  True,”  said  the  philosopher ;  “  but  a  man  like  yourself,  noble  Ilere- 
ward,  merits  more  consideration  in  the  eyes  of  a  real  philosopher,  than  a 
thousand  of  those  mere  insects,  whom  the  smiles  of  a  court  call  into  life, 
and  whom  its  frowns  reduce  to  annihilation.” 

“  You  are  yourself,  grave  sir,  a  follower  of  the  court,”  said  Ilereward. 

“And  a  most  punctilious  one,”  said  Agelastes.  “There  is  not,  I  trust, 
a  subject  in  the  empire  who  knows  better  the  ten  thousand  punctilios  exi¬ 
gible  from  those  of  different  ranks,  and  due  to  different  authorities.  The  man 
is  yet  to  be  born  who  has  seen  me  take  advantage  of  any  more  commodious 
posture  than  that  of  standing  in  presence  of  the  royal  family.  But  though 
I  use  those  false  scales  in  society,  and  so  far  conform  to  its  errors,  my  real 
judgment  is  of  a  more  grave  character,  and  more  worthy  of  man,  as  said 
to  be  formed  in  the  image  of  his  Creator.” 

“There  can  be  small  occasion,”  said  the  Varangian,  “to  exercise  your 
judgment  in  any  respect  upon  me,  nor  am  I  desirous  that  any  one  should 
think  of  me  otherwise  than  I  am;  —  a  poor  exile,  namely,  who  endeavours 
to  fix  his  faith  upon  Heaven,  and  to  perform  his  duty  to  the  world  he  lives 
in,  and  to  the  prince  in  whose  service  he  is  engaged.  —  And  now,  grave 
sir,  permit  me  to  ask,  whether  this  meeting  is  by  your  desire,  and  for  what 
is  its  purpose?  An  African  slave,  whom  I  met  in  the  public  walks,  and 
who  calls  himself  Diogenes,  tells  me  that  you  desired  to  speak  with  me ;  he 
hath  somewhat  the  humour  of  the  old  scoffer,  and  so  he  may  have  lied.  If| 
so,  I  will  even  forgive  him  the  beating  which  I  owe  his  assurance,  and 
make  my  excuse  at  the  same  time  for  having  broken  in  upon  your  retire¬ 
ment,  which  I  am  totally  unfit  to  share.” 

“  Diogenes  has  not  played  you  false,”  answered  Agelastes ;  “  he  has  his 
humours,  as  you  remarked  even  now,  and  with  these  some  qualities  also 
that  put  him  upon  a  level  with  those  of  fairer  complexion  and  better 
features.” 

“  And  for  what,”  said  the  Varangian,  “  have  you  so  employed  him  ?  Can 
your  wisdom  possibly  entertain  a  wish  to  converse  with  me  ?” 

“  I  am  an  observer  of  nature  and  of  humanity,”  answered  the  philoso¬ 
pher  ;  “  is  it  not  natural  that  I  should  tire  of  those  beings  who  are  formed 
entirely  upon  artifice,  and  long  to  see  something  more  fresh  from  the  hand 
of  nature?” 

“  You  see  not  that  in  me,”  said  the  Varangian  ;  “the  rigour  of  military 
discipline,  the  camp — the  centurion — the  armour — frame  a  man’s  sentiments 
and  limbs  to  them,  as  the  sea-crab  is  framed  to  its  shell.  See  one  of  us, 
and  you  see  us  all.” 

“  Permit  me  to  doubt  that,”  said  Agelastes  ;  “  and  to  suppose  that  in 
Ilereward,  the  son  of  Waltheoff,  I  see  an  extraordinary  man,  although  he 
himself  may  be  ignorant,  owing  to  his  modesty,  of  the  rarity  of  his  own 
good  qualities.” 

“The  son  of  Waltheoff  I”  answered  the  Varangian,  somewhat  startled. — 
“  Do  you  know  my  father’s  name  ?” 

“  Be  not  surprised,”  answered  the  philosopher,  “  at  my  possessing  so 
simple  a  piece  of  information.  It  has  cost  me  but  little  trouble  to  attain  it, 
VoL.  XII.  — 6 


82 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


yet  I  would  gladly  hope  that  the  labour  I  have  taken  in  that  matter  may 
convince  you  of  my  real  desire  to  call  you  friend/' 

“  It  was  indeed  an  unusual  compliment/'  said  Hereward,  “  that  a  man 
of  your  knowledge  and  station  should  be  at  the  trouble  to  enquire,  among 
the  Varangian  cohorts,  concerning  the  descent  of  one  of  their  constables. 
I  scarcely  think  that  my  commander,  the  Acolyte  himself,  would  think  such 
knowledge  worthy  of  being  collected  or  preserved." 

“Greater  men  than  he,"  said  Agelastes,  “  certainly  would  not - You 

know  one  in  high  office,  who  thinks  the  names  of  his  most  faithful  soldiers 
of  less  moment  than  those  of  his  hunting  dogs  or  his  hawks,  and  would 
willingly  save  himself  the  trouble  of  calling  them  otherwise  than  by  a 
whistle." 

“  I  may  not  hear  this,"  answered  the  Varangian. 

“  I  would  not  offend  you,"  said  the  philosopher,  “  I  would  not  even  shake 
your  good  opinion  of  the  person  I  allude  to ;  yet  it  surprises  me  that  such 
should  be  entertained  by  one  of  your  great  qualities." 

“  A  truce  with  this,  grave  sir,  which  is  in  fact  trifling  in  a  person  of  your 
character  and  appearance,"  answered  the  Anglo-Saxon.  “  I  am  like  the 
rocks  of  my  country ;  the  fierce  winds  cannot  shake  me,  the  soft  rains  cannot 
melt  me ;  flattery  and  loud  words  are  alike  lost  upon  me." 

“  And  it  is  even  for  that  inflexibility  of  mind,"  replied  Agelastes,  “  that 
steady  contempt  of  every  thing  that  approaches  thee,  save  in  the  light  of  a 
duty,  that  I  demand,  almost  like  a  beggar,  that  personal  acquaintance,  which 
thou  refuses!  like  a  churl." 

“  Pardon  me,"  said  Hereward,  “  if  I  doubt  this.  "Whatever  stories  you 
may  have  picked  up  concerning  me,  not  unexaggerated  probably — since  the 
Greeks  do  not  keep  the  privilege  of  boasting  so  entirely  to  themselves  but 
the  Varangians  have  learned  a  little  of  it  —  you  can  have  heard  nothing 
of  me  which  can  authorise  your  using  your  present  language,  excepting  in 
jest."  ' 

“  You  mistake,  my  son,"  said  Agelastes ;  “  believe  me  not  a  person  to 
mix  in  the  idle  talk  respecting  you,  with  your  comrades  at  the  ale-cup.  Such 
as  I  am,  I  can  strike  on  this  broken  image  of  Anubis" —  (here  he  touched 
a  gigantic  fragment  of  a  statue  by  his  side) — “  and  bid  the  spirit  who  long 
prompted  the  oracle,  descend,  and  once  more  reanimate  the  trembling  mass. 
We  that  are  initiated  enjoy  high  privileges  —  we  stamp  upon  those  ruined 
vaults,  and  the  echo  which  dwells  there  answers  to  our  demand.  Do  not 
think,  that  although  I  crave  thy  friendship,  I  need  therefore  supplicate  thee 
for  information  either  respecting  thyself  or  others." 

“  Your  words  are  wonderful,"  said  the  Anglo-Saxon  ;  “  but  by  such  pro¬ 
mising  words  I  have  heard  that  many  souls  have  been  seduced  from  the 
path  of  heaven.  My  grandsire,  Kenelm,  was  wont  to  say,  that  the  fair 
words  of  the  heathen  philosophy  were  more  hurtful  to  the  Christian  faith 
than  the  menaces  of  the  heathen  tyrants." 

“  I  know  him,"  said  Agelastes.  “  What  avails  it  whether  it  was  in  the 
body  or  in  the  spirit?  —  He  was  converted  from  the  faith  of  Woden  by  a 
noble  monk,  and  died  a  priest  at  the  shrine  of  saint  Augustin."* 

“True"  —  said  Hereward;  “all  this  is  certain  —  and  I  am  the  rather 
bound  to  remember  his  words  now  that  he  is  dead  and  gone.  When  I 
hardly  knew  his  meaning,  he  bid  me  beware  of  the  doctrine  which  causeth 
to  err,  which  is  taught  by  false  prophets,  who  attest  their  doctrine  by  un¬ 
real  miracles." 

“  This,"  said  Agelastes,  “  is  mere  superstition.  Thy  grandsire  was  a 
good  and  excellent  man,  but  narrow-minded,  like  other  priests;  and,  deceived 
by  their  example,  he  wished  but  to  open  a  small  wicket  in  the  gate  of  truth, 
and  admit  the  world  only  on  that  limited  scale.  Seest  thou,  Hereward,  thy 


*  At  Canterbury. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


83 


grandpiro  and  most  men  of  religion  would  fain  narrow  our  intellect  to  the 
consideration  of  such  parts  of  the  immaterial  world  as  are  essential  to  our 
moral  guidance  here,  and  our  final  salvation  hereafter ;  but  it  is  not  the 
less  true)  that  man  has  liberty,  provided  he  has  wisdom  and  courage,  to 
form  intimacies  with  beings  more  powerful  than  himself,  who  can  defy  the 
bounds  of  space  by  which  he  is  circumscribed,  and  overcome,  by  their  meta¬ 
physical  powers,  difficulties  which,  to  the  timid  and  unlearned,  may  appear 
wild  and  impossible.’^ 

“  You  talk  of  a  folly,”  answered  Ilereward,  “  at  which  childhood  gapes 
and  manhood  smiles.” 

“  On  the  contrary,”  said  the  sage,  “  I  talk  of  a  longing  wish  which  every 
man  feels  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  to  hold  communication  with  beings 
more  powerful  than  himself,  and  who  are  not  naturally  accessible  to  our 
organs.  Believe  me,  Ilereward,  so  ardent  and  universal  an  aspiration  had 
not  existed  in  our  bosoms,  had  there  not  also  been  means,  if  steadily  and 
wisely  sought,  of  attaining  its  accomplishment.  I  will  appeal  to  thine  own 
heart,  and  prove  to  thee  even  by  a  single  word,  that  what  I  say  is  truth. 
Thy  thoughts  are  even  now  upon  a  being  long  absent  or  dead,  and  with  the 
name  of  Bertha,  a  thousand  emotions  rush  to  thy  heart,  which  in  thy  igno¬ 
rance  thou  hadst  esteemed  furled  up  for  ever,  like  spoils  of  the  dead  hung 
above  a  tombstone  !  —  Thou  startest  and  changest  thy  colour  —  I  joy  to  see 
by  these  signs,  that  the  firmness  and  indomitable  courage  which  men  ascribe 
to  thee,  have  left  the  avenues  of  the  heart  as  free  as  ever  to  kindlv  and  to 
generous  affections,  while  they  have  barred  them  against  those  of  fear,  un¬ 
certainty,  and  all  the  caitiff  tribe  of  meaner  sensations.  I  have  proffered 
to  esteem  thee,  and  I  have  no  hesitation  in  proving  it.  I  will  tell  thee,  if 
thou  desirest  to  know  it,  the  fate  of  that  very  Bertha,  whose  memory  thou 
hast  cherished  in  thy  breast  in  spite  of  thee,  amidst  the  toil  of  the  day  and 
the  repose  of  the  night,  in  the  battle  and  in  the  truce,  when  sporting  with 
thy  companions  in  fields  of  exercise,  or  attempting  to  prosecute  the  study 
of  Greek  learning,  in  which  if  thou  wouldst  advance,  I  can  teach  it  by  a 
short  road.” 

While  Agelastes  thus  spoke,  the  Varangian  in  some  degree  recovered  his 
composure,  and  made  answer,  though  his  voice  was  somewhat  tremulous, — 

“  Who  thou  art,  I  know  not — what  thou  wouldst  with  me,  I  cannot  tell — 
by  what  means  thou  hast  gathered  intelligence  of  such  consequence  to  me, 
and  of  so  little  to  another,  I  have  no  conception  —  But  this  I  know,  that  by 
intention  or  accident,  thou  hast  pronounced  a  name  which  agitates  my  heart 
to  its  deepest  recesses ;  yet  am  I  a  Christian  and  Varangian,  and  neither  to 
my  God  nor  to  my  adopted  prince  will  I  willingly  stagger  in  my  faith. 
What  is  to  be  wrought  by  idols  or  by  false  deities,  must  be  a  treason  to  the 
real  divinity.  Nor  is  it  less  certain  that  thou  hast  let  glance  some  arrows, 
though  the  rules  of  thy  allegiance  strictly  forbid  it,  at  the  Emperor  himself. 
Henceforward,  therefore,  I  refuse  to  communicate  with  thee,  be  it  for  weal 
or  woe.  I  am  the  Emperor’s  waged  soldier,  and  although  I  affect  not  the 
nice  precisions  of  respect  and  obedience,  which  are  exacted  in  so  many 
various  cases,  and  by  so  many  various  rules,  yet  I  am  his  defence,  and  my 
battle-axe  is  his  body-guard.” 

”  No  one  doubts  it,”  said  the  philosopher.  “  But  art  not  thou  also  bound 
to  a  nearer  dependence  upon  the  great  Acolyte,  Achilles  Tatius?” 

“  No.  lie  is  my  general,  according  to  the  rules  of  our  service,”  answered 
the  Varangian;  “to  me  he  has  always  shown  himself  a  kind  and  good- 
natured  man,  and,  his  dues  of  rank  apart,  I  may  say  has  deported  himself 
as  a  friend  rather  than  a  commander,  lie  is,  however,  my  master’s  servant 
as  well  as  I  am ;  nor  do  I  hold  the  difference  of  great  amount,  which  the 
word  of  a  man  can  give  or  take  away  at  pleasure.” 

“  It  is  nobly  spoken,”  said  Agelastes ;  “  and  you  yourself  are  surely 


84 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


entitled  to  stand  erect  before  one  whom  you  supersede  in  courage  and  in  the 
art  of  war/^ 

“  Pardon  me,”  returned  the  Briton,  “  if  I  decline  the  attributed  compli¬ 
ment,  as  what  in  no  respect  belongs  to  me.  The  Emperor  chooses  his  own 
of&cers,  in  respect  of  their  power  of  serving  him  as  he  desires  to  be  served. 
In  this  it  is  likely  I  might  fail ;  I  have  said  already,  I  owe  my  Emperor  my 
obedience,  my  duty,  and  my  service,  nor  does  it  seem  to  me  necessary  to 
carry  our  explanation  farther.” 

“  Singular  man  !”  said  Agelastes  ;  “is  there  nothing  than  can  move  thee 
but  things  that  are  foreign  to  thyself?  The  name  of  thy  Emperor  and  thy 
commander  are  no  spell  upon  thee,  and  even  that  of  the  object  thou  hast 
loved” - 

Here  the  Varangian  interrupted  him. 

“  I  have  thought,”  he  said,  “  upon  the  words  thou  hast  spoken — thou  hast 
found  the  means  to  shake  my  heart-strings,  but  not  to  unsettle  my  princi¬ 
ples.  I  will  hold  no  converse  with  thee  on  a  matter  in  which  thou  canst 
not  have  interest. — Necromancers,  it  is  said,  perform  their  spells  by  means 
of  the  epithets  of  the  Holiest ;  no  marvel,  then,  should  they  use  the  names 
of  the  purest  of  his  creation  to  serve  their  unhallowed  purposes.  I  will 
none  of  such  truckling,  disgraceful  to  the  dead  perhaps  as  to  the  living. 
Whatever  has  been  thy  purpose,  old  man — for,  think  not  thy  strange  words 
have  passed  unnoticed — be  thou  assured  I  bear  that  in  my  heart  which  defies 
alike  the  seduction  of  men  and  of  fiends.” 

AVith  this  the  soldier  turned,  and  left  the  ruined  temple,  after  a  slight 
inclination  of  his  head  to  the  philosopher. 

Agelastes,  after  the  departure  of  the  soldier,  remained  alone,  apparently 
absorbed  in  meditation,  until  he  was  suddenly  disturbed  by  the  entrance, 
into  the  ruins,  of  Achilles  Tatius.  The  leader  of  the  Varangians  spoke  not 
until  he  had  time  to  form  some  result  from  the  philosopher’s  features.  He 
then  said,  “  Thou  remainest,  sage  Agelastes,  confident  in  the  purpose  of 
which  we  have  lately  spoke  together  ?” 

“I  do,”  said  Agelastes,  with  gravity  and  firmness. 

“But,”  replied  Achilles  Tatius,  “thou  hast  not  gained  to  our  side  that 
proselyte,  whose  coolness  and  courage  would  serve  us  better  in  our  hour  of 
need  than  the  service  of  a  thousand  cold-hearted  slaves  ?” 

“  I  have  not  succeeded,”  answered  the  philosopher. 

“  And  thou  dost  not  blush  to  own  it?”  said  the  imperial  officer  in  reply. 
“  Thou,  the  wisest  of  those  who  yet  pretend  to  Grecian  wisdom,  the  most 
powerful  of  those  who  still  assert  the  skill  by  words,  signs,  names,  periapts, 
and  spells,  to  exceed  the  sphere  to  which  thy  faculties  belong,  hast  been 
foiled  in  thy  trade  of  persuasion,  like  an  infant  worsted  in  debate  with  its 
domestic  tutor  ?  Out  upon  thee,  that  thou  canst  not  sustain  in  argument 
the  character  which  thou  wouldst  so  fain  assume  to  thyself!” 

“Peace!”  said  the  Grecian.  “I  have  as  yet  gained  nothing,  it  is  true, 
over  this  obstinate  and  inflexible  man  ;  but,  Achilles  Tatius,  neither  have  I 
lost.  AVe  both  stand  where  yesterday  we  did,  with  this  advantage  on  my 
side,  that  I  have  suggested  to  him  such  an  object  of  interest  as  he  shall 
never  be  able  to  expel  from  his  mind,  until  he  hath  had  recourse  to  me  to 
obtain  farther  knowledge  concerning  it. — And  now  let  this  singular  person 
remain  for  a  time  unmentioned ;  yet,  trust  me,  though  flattery,  avarice,  and 
ambition  may  fail  to  gain  him,  a  bait  nevertheless  remains,  that  shall  make 
him  as  completely  our  own  as  any  that  is  bound  within  our  mystic  and  invi¬ 
olable  contract.  Tell  me  then,  how  go  on  the  afiairs  of  the  empire  ?  Does 
this  tide  of  Latin  warriors,  so  strangely  set  aflowing,  still  rush  on  to  the 
banks  of  the  Bosphorus?  and  does  Alexius  still  entertain  hopes  to  diminish 
and  divide  the  strength  of  nifmbers,  which  he  could  in  vain  hope  to  defy  ?” 

“  Something  further  of  intelligence  has  been  gained,  even  within  a  very 
few  hours,”  answered  Achilles  Tatius.  “Bohemond  came  to  the  city  with 


C  (>  U  N  T  R  0  B  E  11  T  OF  PARIS. 


85 


some  six  or  eight  light  horse,  and  in  a  species  of  disguise.  Considering  how 
often  he  had  been  the  Emperor’s  enemy,  his  project  was  a  perilous  one. 
But  when  is  it  that  these  Franks  draw  back  on  account  of  danger?  The 
Emperor  perceived  at  once  that  the  Count  was  come  to  see  what  he  might 
obtain,  by  presenting  himself  as  the  very  first  object  of  his  liberality,  and 
by  offering  his  assistance  as  mediator  with  Godfrey  of  Bouillon  .and  the 
other  princes  of  the  crusade.” 

“It  is  a  species  of  policy,”  answered  the  sage,  “for  which  he  would 
receive  full  credit  from  the  Emperor.” 

Achilles  Tatius  proceeded:  —  “Count  Bohemond  was  discovered  to  the 
imperial  court  as  if  it  were  by  mere  accident,  and  he  was  welcomed  with 
marks  of  fiivour  and  splendour  which  had  never  been  even  mentioned  as 
being  fit  for  any  one  of  the  Frankish  race.  There  was  no  word  of  ancient 
enmity  or  of  former  wars,  no  mention  of  Bohemond  as  the  ancient  usurper 
of  Antioch,  and  the  encroacher  upon  the  empire.  But  thanks  to  Heaven 
were  returned  on  all  sides,  which  had  sent  a  faithful  ally  to  the  imperial 
assistance  at  a  moment  of  such  imminent  peril.” 

“And  what  said  Bohemond?”  enquired  the  philosopher. 

“Little  or  nothing,”  said  the  captain  of  the  Varangians,  “until,  as  I 
learned  from  the  domestic  slave  Narses,  a  large  sum  of  gold  had  been  aban¬ 
doned  to  him.  Considerable  districts  were  afterwards  agreed  to  be  ceded  to 
him,  and  other  advantages  granted,  on  condition  he  should  stand  on  this 
occasion  the  steady  friend  of  the  empire  and  its  master.  Such  was  the 
Emperor’s  munificence  towards  the  greedy  barbarian,  that  a  chamber  in  the 
palace  was,  by  chance,  as  it  were,  left  exposed  to  his  view,  containing  large 
quantities  of  manufactured  silks,  of  jewellers’  work,  of  gold  and  silver,  and 
other  articles  of  great  value.  When  the  rapacious  Frank  could  not  forbear 
some  expressions  of  admiration,  he  was  assured,  that  the  contents  of  the 
treasure-chamber  were  his  own,  provided  he  valued  them  as  showing  forth 
the  warmth  and  sincerity  of  his  imperial  ally  towards  his  friends  ;  and  these 
precious  articles  were  accordingly  conveyed  to  the  tent  of  the  Norman 
leader.  By  such  measures,  the  Emperor  must  make  himself  master  of  Bohe¬ 
mond,  both  body  and  soul,  for  the  Franks  themselves  say  it  is  strange  to 
see  a  man  of  undaunted  bravery,  and  towering  ambition,  so  infected,  never¬ 
theless,  with  avarice,  which  they  term  a  mean  and  unnatural  vice.” 

“  Bohemond,”  said  Agelastes,  “  is  then  the  Emperor’s  for  life  and  death 
— always,  that  is,  till  the  recollection  of  the  royal  munificence  be  effaced  by 
a  greater  gratuity.  Alexius,  proud  as  he  naturally  is  of  his  management 
with  this  important  chieftain,  will  no  doubt  expect  to  prevail  by  his  counsels, 
on  most  of  the  other  crusaders,  and  even  on  Godfrey  of  Bouillon  himself,  to 
take  an  oath  of  submission  and  fidelity  to  the  Emperor,  which,  were  it  not 
for  the  sacred  nature  of  their  warfare,  the  meanest  gentleman  among  them 
would  not  submit  to,  were  it  to  be  lord  of  a  province.  There,  then,  we  rest. 
A  few  days  must  determine  what  we  have  to  do.  An  earlier  discovery  would 
be  destruction.” 

“  We  meet  not  then  to-night?”  said  the  Acolyte. 

“  No,”  replied  the  sage  ;  “  unless  we  are  summoned  to  that  foolish  stage- 
play  or  recitation  ;  and  then  we  meet  as  playthings  in  the  hand  of  a  silly 
woman,  the  spoiled  child  of  a  weak-minded  parent.” 

Tatius  then  took  his  leave  of  the  philosopher,  and,  as  if  fearful  of  being 
seen  in  each  other’s  company,  they  left  their  solitary  place  of  meeting  by 
different  routes.  The  Varangian,  Hereward,  received,  shortly  after,  a  sum¬ 
mons  from  his  superior,  who  acquainted  him,  that  he  should  not,  as  formerly 
intimated,  require  his  attendance  that  evening. 

Achilles  then  paused,  and  added, — “Thou  hast  something  on  thy  lips  thou 
wouldst  say  to  me,  which,  nevertheless  hesitates  to  break  forth.” 

“It  is  only  this,”  answered  the  soldier:  “  I  have  had  an  interview  with 
the  man  called  Agelastes,  and  he  seems  something  so  different  from  what  he 

n 


80 


WAVEKLEV  NOVELS. 


appeared  when  we  last  spoke  of  him,  that  I  cannot  forbear  mentioning  to 
you  what  I  have  seen.  He  is  not  an  insignificant  trifler,  whose  object  it  is 
to  raise  a  laugh  at  his  own  expense,  or  that  of  any  other.  He  is  a  deep¬ 
thinking  and  far-reaching  man,  who,  for  some  reason  or  other,  is  desirous 
of  forming  friends,  and  drawing,  a  party  to  himself.  Your  own  wisdom  will 
teach  you  to  beware  of  him.^’ 

“  Thou  art  an  honest  fellow,  my  poor  Hereward,’’  said  Achilles  Tatius, 
with  an  affectation  of  good-natured  contempt,  “  Such  men  as  Agelastes  do 
often  frame  their  severest  jests  in  the  shape  of  formal  gravity  —  they  will 
pretend  to  possess  the  most  unbounded  power  over  elements  and  elemental 
spirits — they  will  make  themselves  masters  of  the  names  and  anecdotes  best 
known  to  those  whom  they  make  their  sport;  and  any  one  who  shall  listen 
to  them,  shall,  in  the  words  of  the  Divine  Homer,  only  expose  himself  to  a 
flood  of  inextinguishable  laughter.  I  have  often  known  him  select  one  of 
the  rawest  and  most  ignorant  persons  in  presence,  and  to  him  for  the  amuse¬ 
ment  of  the  rest,  he  has  pretended  to  cause  the  absent  to  appear,  the  distant 
to  draw  near,  and  the  dead  themselves  to  burst  the  cerements  of  the  grave. 
Take  care,  Hereward,  that  his  arts  make  not  a  stain  on  the  credit  of  one  of 
my  bravest  Varangians.’^ 

“  There  is  no  danger,”  answered  Hereward.  “  I  shall  not  be  fond  of  being 
often  with  this  man.  If  he  jests  upon  one  subject  which  he  hath  men¬ 
tioned  to  me,  I  shall  be  but  too  likely  to  teach  him  seriousness  after  a 
rough  manner.  And  if  he  is  serious  in  his  pretensions  in  such  mystical 
matters,  we  should,  according  to  the  faith  of  my  grandfather,  Kenelm,  do 
insult  to  the  deceased,  whose  name  is  taken  in  the  mouth  of  a  soothsayer, 
or  impious  enchanter.  I  will  not,  therefore,  again  go  near  this  Agelastes, 
be  he  wizard,  or  be  he  impostor.” 

“You  apprehend  me  not,”  said  the  Acolyte,  hastily;  “you  mistake  my 
meaning.  He  is  a  man  from  whom,  if  he  pleases  to  converse  with  such  as 
you,  you  may  derive  much  knowledge;  keeping  out  of  the  reach  of  those 
pretended  secret  arts,  which  he  will  only  use  to  turn  thee  into  ridicule.” 
With  these  words,  which  he  himself  would  perhaps  have  felt  it  difficult  to 
reconcile,  the  leader  and  his  follower  parted. 


(Ctnipttr  tfit  Sintji. 

Between  the  foaming  jaws  of  the  white  torrent, 

The  skilful  artist  draws  a  sudden  mound  ; 

By  level  long  he  subdivides  their  strength, 
stealing  the  waters  from  their  rocky  bed. 

First  to  diminish  what  he  means  to  conquer; 

Then,  for  the  residue  he  forms  a  road. 

Easy  to  keep,  and  painful  to  desert. 

And  guiding  to  the  end  the  planner  aim’d  at. 

The  Engineer. 

It  would  have  been  easy  for  Alexius,  by  a  course  of  avowed  suspicion, 
or  any  false  step  in  the  manner  of  receiving  this  tumultuary  invasion  of 
the  European  nations,  to  have  blown  into  a  flame  the  numerous  but 
smothered  grievances  under  which  they  laboured  ;  and  a  similar  catastrophe 
would  not  have  been  less  certain,  had  he  at  once  abandoned  all  thoughts  of 
resistance,  and  placed  his  hope  of  safety  in  surrendering  to  the  multitudes 
of  the  west  whatsoever  they  accounted  worth  taking.  The  Emperor  chose 
a  middle  course  ;  and,  unquestionably,  in  the  weakness  of  the  Greek  empire, 
it  was  the  only  one  which  would  have  given  him  at  once  safety,  and  a  great 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


87 


dogroo  of  conscquonce  in  the  eyes  of  the  Frank  invaders  and  those  of  his 
own  subjects.  The  means  with  which  he  acted  were  of  various  kinds,  and, 
rather  from  policy  than  inclination,  were  often  stained  with  falsehood  or 
meanness  ;  therefore  it  follows  that  the  measures  of  the  Emperor  resembled 
those  of  the  snake,  who  twines  himself  through  the  grass,  with  the  purpose 
of  stinging  insidiously  those  whom  he  fears  to  approach  with  the  step  of  the 
bold  and  generous  lion.  We  are  not,  however,  writing  the  History  of  the 
Crusades,  and  what  w^e  have  already  said  of  the  Emperor’s  precautions  on 
the  first  appearance  of  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  and  his  associates,  may  suffice 
for  the  elucidation  of  our  story. 

About  four  weeks  had  now  passed  over,  marked  by  quarrels  and  recon¬ 
cilements  between  the  crusaders  and  the  Grecians  of  the  empire.  The 
former  were,  as  Alexius’s  policy  dictated,  occasionally  and  individually  re¬ 
ceived  with  extreme  honour,  and  their  leaders  loaded  with  respect  and 
favour ;  while,  from  time  to  time,  such  bodies  of  them  as  sought  distant  or 
circuitous  routes  to  the  capital,  were  intercepted  and  cut  to  pieces  by  light¬ 
armed  troops,  who  easily  passed  upon  their  ignorant  opponents  for  Turks, 
Scythians,  or  other  infidels,  and  sometimes  were  actually  such,  but  in  the 
service  of  the  Grecian  monarch.  Often,  too,  it  happened,  that  while  the 
more  powerful  chiefs  of  the  crusade  were  feasted  by  the  Emperor  and  his 
ministers  with  the  richest  delicacies,  and  their  thirst  slaked  with  iced  wines, 
their  followers  were  left  at  a  distance,  where,  intentionally  supplied  with 
adulterated  flour,  tainted  provisions,  and  bad  water,  they  contracted  diseases, 
and  died  in  great  numbers,  without  having  once  seen  a  foot  of  the  Holy 
Land,  for  the  recovery  of  which  they  had  abandoned  their  peace,  their  com¬ 
petence,  and  their  native  country.  These  aggressions  did  not  pass  without 
complaint.  Many  of  the  crusading  chiefs  impugned  the  fidelity  of  their 
allies,  exposed  the  losses  sustained  by  their  armies  as  evils  voluntarily 
inflicted  on  them  by  the  Greeks,  and  on  more  than  one  occasion,  the  two 
nations  stood  opposed  to  each  other  on  such  terms  that  a  general  war  seemed 
to  be  inevitable. 

Alexius,  however,  though  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  every  finesse,  still 
kept  his  ground,  and  made  peace  with  the  most  powerful  chiefs,  under  one 
pretence  or  other.  The  actual  losses  of  the  crusaders  by  the  sword  he 
imputed  to  their  own  aggressions  —  their  misguidance,  to  accident  and  to 
wilfulness  —  the  effects  produced  on  them  by  the  adulterated  provisions,  to 
the  vehemence  of  their  own  appetite  for  raw  fruits  and  unripened  wines. 
In  short,  there  was  no  disaster  of  any  kind  whatsoever  which  could  possibly 
befall  the  unhappy  pilgrims,  but  the  Emperor  stood  prepared  to  prove  that 
it  was  the  natural  consequence  of  their  own  violence,  wilfulness  of  conduct, 
or  hostile  precipitancy. 

The  chiefs,  who  were  not  ignorant  of  their  strength,  would  not,  it  was 
likely,  have  tamely  suffered  injuries  from  a  power  so  inferior  to  their  own, 
were  it  not  that  they  had  formed  extravagant  ideas  of  the  wealth  of  the 
Eastern  empire,  which  Alexius  seemed  willing  to  share  with  them  with  an 
excess  of  bounty  as  new  to  the  leaders  as  the  rich  productions  of  the  East 
were  tempting  to  their  followers. 

The  French  nobles  would  perhaps  have  been  the  most  difficult  to  be 
brought  into  order  when  differences  arose ;  but  an  accident,  which  the  Em¬ 
peror  might  have  termed  providential,  reduced  the  high-spirited  Count  of 
Vermandois  to  the  situation  of  a  suppliant,  when  he  expected  to  hold  that 
of  a  dictator.  A  fierce  tempest  surprised  his'  fleet  after  he  set  sail  from 
Italy,  and  he  was  finally  driven  on  the  coast  of  Greece.  Many  ships  were 
destroyed,  and  those  troops  who  got  ashore  were  so  much  distressed,  that 
they  were  obliged  to  surrender  themselves  to  the  lieutenants  of  Alexius. 
So  that  the  Count  of  Vermandois,  so  haughty  in  his  bearing  when  he  first 
embarked,  was  sent  to  the  court  of  Constantinople,  not  as  a  prince,  but  as 


88 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


a  prisoner.  In  this  case,  the  Emperor  instantly  set  the  soldiers  at  liberty, 
and  loaded  them  with  presents.* 

Grateful,  therefore,  for  attentions  in  which  Alexius  was  unremitting, 
Count  Hugh  was  by  gratitude  as  well  as  interest,  inclined  to  join  the  opinion 
of  those  who,  for  other  reasons,  desired  the  subsistence  of  peace  betwixt  the 
crusaders  and  the  empire  of  Greece.  A  better  principle  determined  the 
celebrated  Godfrey,  Raymond  of  Thoulouse,  and  some  others,  in  whom 
devotion  was  something  more  than  a  mere  burst  of  fanaticism.  These 
princes  considered  with  what  scandal  their  whole  journey  must  be  stained, 
if  the  first  of  their  exploits  should  be  a  war  upon  the  Grecian  empire,  which 
might  justly  be  called  the  barrier  of  Christendom.  If  it  was  weak,  and  at 
the  same  time  rich  —  if  at  the  same  time  it  invited  rapine,  and  was  unable 
to  protect  itself  against  it — it  was  the  more  their  interest  and  duty,  as  Chris¬ 
tian  soldiers,  to  protect  a  Christian  state,  whose  existence  was  of  so  much 
consequence  to  the  common  cause,  even  when  it  could  not  defend  itself.  It 
was  the  wish  of  these  frank-hearted  men  to  receive  the  Emperor’s  profes¬ 
sions  of  friendship  with  such  sincere  returns  of  amity — to  return  his  kind¬ 
ness  with  so  much  usury,  as  to  convince  him  that  their  purpose  towards  him 
was  in  every  respect  fair  and  honourable,  and  that  it  would  be  his  interest 
to  abstain  from  every  injurious  treatment  which  might  induce  or  compel 
them  to  alter  their  measures  towards  him. 

It  was  with  this  accommodating  spirit  towards  Alexius,  which,  for  many 
difierent  and  complicated  reasons,  had  now  animated  most  of  the  crusaders, 
that  the  chiefs  consented  to  a  measure  which,  in  other  circumstances,  they 
would  probably  have  refused,  as  undue  to  the  Greeks,  and  dishonourable  to 
themselves.  This  was  the  famous  resolution,  that,  before  crossing  the  Bos¬ 
phorus  to  go  in  quest  of  that  Palestine  which  they  had  vowed  to  regain, 
each  chief  of  crusaders  would  acknowledge  individually  the  Grecian  Em¬ 
peror,  originally  lord  paramount  of  all  these  regions,  as  their  liege  lord  and 
suzerain. 

The  Emperor  Alexius,  with  trembling  joy,  beheld  the  crusaders  approach 
a  conclusion  to  which  he  had  hoped  to  bribe  them  rather  by  interested  means 
than  by  reasoning,  although  much  might  be  said  why  provinces  reconquered 
from  the  Turks  or  Saracens  should,  if  recovered  from  the  infidel,  become 
again  a  part  of  the  Grecian  empire,  from  which  they  had  been  rent  without 
any  pretence,  save  that  of  violence. 

Though  fearful,  and  almost  despairing  of  being  able  to  manage  the  rude 
and  discordant  army  of  haughty  chiefs,  who  were  wholly  independent  of 
each  other,  Alexius  failed  not,  with  eagerness  and  dexterity,  to  seize  upon 
the  admission  of  Godfrey  and  his  compeers,  that  the  Emperor  was  entitled 
to  the  allegiance  of  all  who  should  war  on  Palestine,  and  natural  lord  para¬ 
mount  of  all  the  conquests  which  should  be  made  in  the  course  of  the  expe¬ 
dition.  lie  was  resolved  to  make  this  ceremony  so  public,  and  to  interest 
men’s  minds  in  it  by  such  a  display  of  the  imperial  pomp  and  munificence, 
that  it  should  not  either  pass  unknown,  or  be  readily  forgotten. 

An  extensive  terrace,  one  of  the  numerous  spaces  which  extend  along  the 
coast  of  the  Propontis,  was  chosen  for  the  site  of  the  magnificent  ceremony. 
Here  was  placed  an  elevated  and  august  throne,  calculated  for  the  use  of 
the  Emperor  alone.  On  this  occasion,  by  suffering  no  other  seats  within 
view  of  the  pageant,  the  Greeks  endeavoured  to  secure  a  point  of  ceremony 
peculiarly  dear  to  their  vanity,  namely,  that  none  of  that  presence,  save  the 
Emperor  himself,  should  be  seated.  Around  the  throne  of  Alexius  Comne- 
nus  were  placed  in  order,  but  standing,  the  various  dignitaries  of  his  splendid 
court,  in  their  difierent  ranks,  from  the  Protosebastos  and  the  Caesar,  to  the 
Patriarch,  spieudid  in  his  ecclesiastical  robes,  and  to  Agelastes,  who,  in  his 
simple  habit,  gave  also  the  necessary  attendance.  Behind  and  around  the 


•  See  Mills’  History  of  the  Crusades,  vol  i.  p.  96. 


•  COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


80 


splendid  display  of  the  Emperor’s  court,  were  drawn  many  dark  circles  of 
the  exiled  Anglo-Saxons.  These,  by  their  own  desire,  were  not,  on  that 
memorable  dav,  accoutred  in  the  silver  corslets  which  were  the  fashion  of 
an  idle  court,  hut  sheathed  in  mail  and  plate.  They  desired,  they  said,  to 
be  known  as  warriors  to  warriors.  This  was  the  more  readily  granted,  as 
there  was  no  knowing  what  trifle  might  infringe  a  truce  between  parties  so 
inflammable  as  were  now  assembled. 

Beyond  the  Varangians,  in  much  greater  numbers,  were  drawn  up  the 
bands  of  Grecians,  or  Romans,  then  known  by  the  title  of  Immortals,  which 
had  been  borrowed  by  the  Romans  originally  from  the  empire  of  Persia. 
The  stately  forms,  lofty  crests,  and  splendid  apparel  of  these  guards,  would 
have  given  the  foreign  princes  present  a  higher  idea  of  their  military  prowess, 
had  there  not  occurred  in  their  ranks  a  frequent  indication  of  loquacity  and 
of  motion,  forming  a  strong  contrast  to  the  steady  composure  and  death-like 
silence  with  which  the  well-trained  Varangians  stood  in  the  parade,  like 
statues  made  of  iron. 

The  reader  must  then  conceive  this  throne  in  all  the  pomp  of  Oriental 
greatness,  surrounded  by  the  foreign  and  Roman  troops  of  the  empire,  and 
closed  on  the  rear  by  clouds  of  light-horse,  who  shifted  their  places  repeat¬ 
edly,  so  as  to  convey  an  idea  of  their  multitude,  without  aifording  the  exact 
means  of  estimating  it.  Through  the  dust  which  they  raised  by  these  evo¬ 
lutions,  might  be  seen  banners  and  standards,  among  which  could  be  dis¬ 
covered  by  glances,  the  celebrated  Labarum,*  the  pledge  of  conquest  to  the 
imperial  banners,  but  whose  sacred  efficacy  had  somewhat  failed  of  late 
days.  The  rude  soldiers  of  the  West,  who  viewed  the  Grecian  army,  main¬ 
tained  that  the  standards  which  were  exhibited  in  front  of  their  line,  were 
at  least  sufficient  for  the  array  of  ten  times  the  number  of  soldiers. 

Far  on  the  right,  the  appearance  of  a  very  large  body  of  European  cavalry 
drawn  up  on  the  sea-shore,  intimated  the  presence  of  the  crusaders.  So 
great  was  the  desire  to  follow  the  example  of  the  chief  Princes,  Dukes,  and 
Counts,  in  making  the  proposed  fealty,  that  the  number  of  independent 
knights  and  nobles  who  were  to  perform  this  service,  seemed  very  great 
wlien  collected  together  for  that  purpose ;  for  every  crusader  who  possessed 
a  tower,  and  led  six  lances,  would  have  thought  himself  abridged  of  his 
dignity  if  he  had  not  been  called  to  acknowledge  the  Grecian  Emperor,  and 
hold  the  lands  he  should  conquer  of  his  throne,  as  well  as  Godfrey  of 
Bouillon,  or  Hugh  the  Great,  Count  of  Vermandois.  And  yet,  with  strange 
inconsistency,  though  they  pressed  to  fulfil  the  homage,  as  that  which  was 
paid  by  greater  persons  than  themselves,  they  seemed,  at  the  very  same 
time,  desirous  to  find  some  mode  of  intimating  that  the  homage  which  they 
rendered  they  felt  as  an  idle  degradation,  and  in  fact  held  the  whole  show 
as  a  mere  piece  of  mocker3^ 

The  order  of  the  procession  had  been  thus  settled :  —  The  Crusaders,  or, 
as  the  Grecians  called  them,  the  Counts, — that  being  the  most  common  title 
among  them, — were  to  advance  from  the  left  of  their  bod^',  and  passing  the 
Emperor  one  by  one,  were  apprized,  that,  in  passing,  each  was  to  render  to 
him,  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  the  homage  which  had  been  previously 
agreed  on.  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  his  brotlier  Baldwin,  Bohemond  of  An- 


"  Ducanse  fills  half  a  column  of  his  huge  pag:e  with  the  mere  names  of  the  authors  who  have  written  at 
lenfftli  on  the  Labarum,  or  principal  standard  of  the  empire  for  the  time  of  Constantine.  It  consisted  of  a 
spear  of  silver,  or  plated  with  that  metal,  having  suspended  from  a  cross  beam  below  tlie  spoke  a  small  square 
silken  banner,  adorned  with  portraits  of  the  reigning  family,  and  over  these  the  famous  Monogram  which  ex- 
pres-ies  at  once  the  figure  of  the  cross  and  the  initial  letters  of  the  name  of  Christ.  The  bearer  of  the  Laba¬ 
rum  was  an  officer  of  high  rank  down  to  the  last  days  of  the  Byzantine  government. — See  Gibbon,  chap.  20. 

Ducauge  seems  to  have  proved,  from  the  evidence  of  coins  and  triumphial  monuments,  that  a  standard  of 
the  form  of  the  Labarum  was  used  by  various  barbarous  nations  long  before  it  was  adopted  by  their  Roman 
rxmquerors,  and  he  is  of  opinion  that  its  name  also  was  borrowed  from  either  Teutonic  Germany,  or  Celtic 
(Jaul.  or  Sclavonic  Illyria.  It  is  certain  that  either  the  German  language  or  the  Welsh  may  afford  at  this  day 
a  perfectly  satisfactory  etymon  ;  Lap-heer  in  the  former  and  Lab-hair  in  the  latter,  having  precisely  the  same 
ineaiiing  —  the  cloth  oj  the  host. 

The  form  of  the  Labarum  may  still  be  recognised  in  the  banners  carried  in  ecrdesiastical  processions  in  all 
Roman  Catholic  countries. 


II 


o 


90 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


tioch,  and  several  other  crusaders  of  eminence,  were  the  first  to  perform  tlie 
ceremony,  alighting  when  their  own  part  was  performed,  and  remaining  in 
attendance  by  the  Emperor’s  chair,  to  prevent,  by  the  awe  of  their  presence, 
any  of  their  numerous  associates  from  being  guilty  of  petulance  or  pre¬ 
sumption  during  the  solemnity.  Other  crusaders  of  less  degree  retained 
their  station  near  the  Emperor,  when  they  had  once  gained  it,  out  of  mere 
curiosity,  or  to  show  that  they  were  as  much  at  liberty  to  do  so  as  the 
greater  commanders  who  assumed  that  privilege. 

Thus  two  great  bodies  of  troops,  Grecian  and  European,  paused  at  some 
distance  from  each  other  on  the  banks  of  the  Bosphorus  canal,  differing  in 
language,  arms,  and  appearance.  The  small  troops  of  horse  which  from 
time  to  time  issued  forth  from  these  bodies,  resembled  the  flashes  of  light¬ 
ning  passing  from  one  thunder-cloud  to  another,  which  communicate  to  each 
other  by  such  emissaries  their  overcharged  contents.  After  some  halt  on 
the  margin  of  the  Bosphorus,  the  Franks  who  had  performed  homage, 
straggled  irregularly  forward  to  a  quay  on  the  shore,  where  innumerable 
galleys  and  smaller  vessels,  provided  for  the  purpose,  lay  with  sails  and 
oars  prepared  to  waft  the  warlike  pilgrims  across  the  passage,  and  place 
them  on  that  Asia  which  they  longed  so  passionately  to  visit,  and  from 
which  but  few  of  them  were  likely  to  return.  The  gay  appearance  of  the 
vessels  which  were  to  receive  them,  the  readiness  with  which  they  were  sup¬ 
plied  with  refreshments,  the  narrowness  of  the  strait  they  had  to  cross,  the 
near  approach  of  that  active  service  which  they  had  vowed  and  longed  to 
discharge,  put  the  warriors  into  gay  spirits,  and  songs  and  music  bore 
chorus  to  the  departing  oars. 

While  such  was  the  temper  of  the  crusaders,  the  Grecian  Emperor  did 
his  best  through  the  whole  ceremonial  to  impress  on  the  armed  multitude 
the  highest  ideas  of  his  own  grandeur,  and  the  importance  of  the  occasion 
which  had  brought  them  together.  This  was  readily  admitted  by  the  higher 
chiefs ;  some  because  their  vanity  had  been  propitiated,  —  some  because 
their  avarice  had  been  gratified,  —  some  because  their  ambition  had  been 
inflamed,  —  and  a  few,  a  very  few,  because  to  remain  friends  with  Alexius 
was  the  most  probable  means  of  advancing  the  purposes  of  their  expedition. 
Accordingly  the  great  lords,  from  these  various  motives,  practised  a  humility 
which  perhaps  they  were  far  from  feeling,  and  carefully  abstained  from  all 
which  might  seem  like  irreverence  at  the  solemn  festival  of  the  Grecians. 
But  there  were  very  many  of  a  different  temper. 

Of  the  great  number  of  counts,  lords,  and  knights,  under  whose  variety 
of  banners  the  crusaders  were  led  to  the  walls  of  Constantinople,  many 
were  too  insignificant  to  be  bribed  to  this  distasteful  measure  of  homage ; 
and  these,  though  they  felt  it  dangerous  to  oppose  resistance,  yet  mixed 
their  submission  with  taunts,  ridicule,  and  such  contraventions  of  decorum, 
as  plainly  intimated  that  they  entertained  resentment  and  scorn  at  the  step 
they  were  about  to  take,  and  esteemed  it  as  proclaiming  themselves  vassals 
to  a  prince,  heretic  in  his  faith,  limited  in  the  exercise  of  his  boasted 
power,  their  enemy  when  he  dared  to  show  himself  such,  and  the  friend  of 
those  only  among  their  number,  "who  were  able  to  compel  him  to  be  so ; 
and  who,  though  to  them  an  obsequious  ally,  was  to  the  others,  when 
occasion  offered,  an  insidious  and  murderous  enemy. 

The  nobles  of  Frankish  origin  and  descent  were  chiefly  remarkable  for 
their  presumptuous  contempt  of  every  other  nation  engaged  in  the  crusade, 
as  well  as  for  their  dauntless  bravery,  and  for  the  scorn  with  which  they 
regarded  the  power  and  authority  of  the  Greek  empire.  It  was  a  common 
saying  among  them,  that  if  the  skies  should  fall,  the  French  crusaders 
alone  were  able  to  hold  therA  up  with  their  lances.  The  same  bold  and 
arrogant  disposition  showed  itself  in  occasional  quarrels  with  their  un¬ 
willing  hosts,  in  which  the  Greeks,  notwithstanding  all  their  art,  were  often 
worsted  ;  so  that  Alexius  was  determined,  at  all  events,  to  get  rid  of  these 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


91 


intractable  and  fiery  allies,  by  ferrying  them  over  the  Bosphorus  "with  all 
manner  of  diligence.  To  do  this  with  safety,  he  availed  himself  of  the 
presence  of  the  Count  of  Yermandois,  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  and  other  chiefs 
of  great  influence,  to  keep  in  order  the  lesser  Frankish  knights,  who  were 
so  numerous  and  unruly.* 

Struggling  with  his  feelings  of  olfended  pride,  tempered  by  a  prudent 
degree  of  apprehension,  the  Emperor  endeavoured  to  receive  with  com¬ 
placence  a  homage  tendered  in  mockery.  An  incident  shortly  took  place 
of  a  character  highly  descriptive  of  the  nations  brought  together  in  so  ex¬ 
traordinary  a  manner,  and  with  such  difierent  feelings  and  sentiments. 
Several  bands  of  French'had  passed,  in  a  sort  of  procession,  the  throne  of 
the  Emperor,  and  rendered,  with  some  appearance  of  gravity,  the  usual 
homage.  On  this  occasion  they  bent  their  knees  to  Alexius,  placed  their 
hands  within  his,  and  in  that  posture  paid  the  ceremonies  of  feudal  fealty. 
But  when  it  came  to  the  turn  of  Bohemond  of  Antioch,  already  mentioned, 
to  render  this  fealty,  the  Emperor,  desirous  to  show  every  species  of  honour 
to  this  wily  person,  his  former  enemy,  and  now  apparently  his  ally,  advanced 
two  or  three  paces  towards  the  sea-side,  where  the  boats  lay  as  if  in  readi¬ 
ness  for  his  use. 

The  distance  to  which  the  Emperor  moved  was  very  small,  and  it  was 
assumed  as  a  piece  of  deference  to  Bohemond  ;  but  it  became  the  means  of 
exposing  Alexius  himself  to  a  cutting  afl'ront,  which  his  guards  and  subjects 
felt  deeply,  as  an  intentional  humiliation.  A  half  score  of  horsemen,  at¬ 
tendants  of  the  Frankish  Count  who  was  next  to  perform  the  homage,  with 
their  lord  at  their  head,  set  off  at  full  gallop  from  the  right  flank  of  the 
French  squadrons,  and  arriving  before  the  throne,  which  was  yet  empty, 
they  at  once  halted.  The  rider  at  the  head  of  the  band  was  a  strong  her¬ 
culean  figure,  with  a  decided  and  stern  countenance,  though  extremely 
handsome,  looking  out  from  thick  black  curls.  Ilis  head  was  surmounted 
with  a  barret  cap,  while  his  hands,  limbs,  and  feet  were  covered  Avith  gar¬ 
ments  of  chamois  leather,  over  Avhich  he  in  general  wore  the  ponderous 
and  complete  armour  of  his  country.  This,  however,  he  had  laid  aside  for 
personal  convenience,  though  in  doing  so  he  evinced  a  total  neglect  of  the 
ceremonial  which  marked  so  important  a  meeting.  He  waited  not  a  mo¬ 
ment  for  the  Emperor’s  return,  nor  regarded  the  impropriety  of  obliging 
Alexius  to  hurry  his  steps  back  to  his  throne,  but  sprung  from  his  gigantic 
horse,  and  threw  the  reins  loose,  which  were  instantly  seized  by  one  of  the 
attendant  pages.  Without  a  moment’s  hesitation  the  Frank  seated  himself 
in  the  vacant  throne  of  the  Emperor,  and  extending  his  half-armed  and 
robust  figure  on  the  golden  cushions  which  were  destined  for  Alexius,  he 
indolently  began  to  caress  a  large  wolf-hound  which  had  followed  him,  and 
which,  feeling  itself  as  much  at  ease  as  its  master,  reposed  its  grim  form 
on  the  carpets  of  silk  and  gold  damask,  which  tapestried  the  imperial  foot¬ 
stool.  The  very  hound  stretched  itself  with  a  bold,  ferocious  insolence, 
and  seemed  to  regard  no  one  with  respect,  save  the  stern  knight  whom  it 
called  master. 

The  Emperor,  turning  back  from  the  short  space  which,  as  a  special 
mark  of  favour,  he  had  accompanied  Bohemond,  beheld  with  astonishment 
his  seat  occupied  by  this  insolent  Frank.  The  bands  of  the  half-savage 
Varangians  who  were  stationed  around,  would  not  have  hesitated  an  instant 
in  avenging  the  insult,  by  prostrating  the  violator  of  their  master’s  throne 
even  in  this  act  of  his  contempt,  had  they  not  been  restrained  by  Achilles 
Tatius  and  other  officers,  who  were  uncertain  what  the  Emperor  would  do, 
and  somewhat  timorous  of  taking  a  resolution  for  themselves. 

Meanwhile,  the  unceremonious  knight  spoke  aloud,  in  a  speech  which, 
though  provincial,  might  be  understood  by  all  to  whom  the  French  language 


*  See  Mills,  vol.  i.  chap.  3. 


no 

t'  aJ 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


Avas  known,  while  even  those  Avho  understood  it  not,  gathered  its  interpre¬ 
tation  from  his  tone  and  manner.  “What  churl  is  this, he  said,  “who 
has  remained  sitting  stationary  like  a  block  of  wood,  or  the  fragment  of  a 
rock,  when  so  many  noble  knights,  the  flower  of  chivalry  and  muster  of 
gallantry,  stand  uncovered  around,  among  the  thrice  conquered  Varan- 
..^ians  ?” 

A  deep,  clear  accent  replied,  as  if  from  the  bottom  of  the  earth,  so  like 
it  was  to  the  accents  of  some  being  from  the  other  world,  —  “If  the  Nor¬ 
mans  desire  battle  of  the  Varangians,  they  will  meet  them  in  the  lists  man 
to  man,  Avithout  the  poor  boast  of  insulting  the  Emperor  of  Greece,  who  is 
well  known  to  fight  only  by  the  battle-axes  of  his  guard.^^ 

The  astonishment  was  so  great  when  this  answer  was  heard,  as  to  alfect 
even  the  knight,  whose  insult  upon  the  Emperor  had  occasioned  it ;  and 
amid  the  efforts  of  Achilles  to  retain  his  soldiers  within  the  bounds  of 
subordination  and  silence,  a  loud  murmur  seemed  to  intimate  that  they 
would  not  long  remain  so.  Bohemond  returned  through  the  press  with  a 
celerity  which  did  not  so  well  suit  the  dignity  of  Alexius,  and  catching  the 
crusader  by  the  arm,  he,  something  betAveen  fair  means  and  a  gentle  degree 
of  force,  obliged  him  to  leave  the  chair  of  the  Emperor,  in  which  he  had 
placed  himself  so  boldly. 

“  How  is  it,’^  said  Bohemond,  “noble  Count  of  Paris?  Is  there  one  of 
this  great  assembly  who  can  see  with  patience,  that  your  name,  so  widely 
renowned  for  valour,  is  now  to  be  quoted  in  an  idle  brawl  with  hirelings, 
whose  utmost  boast  it  is  to  bear  a  mercenary  battle-axe  in  the  ranks  of  the 
Emperor’s  guards?  For  shame  —  for  shame  —  do  not,  for  the  discredit  of 
Norman  chivalry,  let  it  be  so !” 

“  I  know  not,”  said  the  crusader,  rising  reluctantly  —  “I  am  not  nice  in 
choosing  the  degree  of  my  adversary,  when  he  bears  himself  like  one  who 
is  willing  and  forward  in  battle.  I  am  good-natured,  I  tell  thee.  Count 
Bohemond  ;  and  Turk  or  Tartar,  or  wandering  Anglo-Saxon,  who  only 
escapes  from  the  chain  of  the  Normans  to  become  the  slave  of  the  Greek, 
is  equally  welcome  to  whet  his  blade  clean  against  my  armour,  if  he  desires 
to  achieve  such  an  honourable  office.” 

The  Emperor  had  heard  what  passed  —  had  heard  it  with  indignation, 
mixed  with  fear ;  for  he  imagined  the  whole  scheme  of  his  policy  was  about 
to  be  overturned  at  once  by  a  premeditated  plan  of  personal  afiront,  and 
probably  an  assault  upon  his  person.  He  was  about  to  call  to  arms,  when, 
casting  his  eyes  on  the  right  flank  of  the  crusaders,  he  saw  that  all  remained 
quiet  after  the  Frank  Baron  had  transferred  himself  from  thence.  He 
therefore  instantly  resoh^ed  to  let  the  insult  pass,  as  one  of  the  rough 
pleasantries  of  the  Franks,  since  the  advance  of  more  troops  did  not  give 
any  symptom  of  an  actual  onset. 

Besolving  on  his  line  of  conduct  with  the  quickness  of  thought,  he  glided 
back  to  his  canopy,  and  stood  beside  his  throne,  of  which,  however,  he  chose 
not  instantly  to  take  possession,  lest  he  should  give  the  insolent  stranger 
some  ground  for  renewing  and  persisting  in  a  competition  for  it. 

“What  bold  Vavasour  is  this,”  said  he  to  Count  Baldwin,  “'whom,  as  is 
apparent  from  his  dignity,  I  ought  to  have  received  seated  upon  my  throne, 
and  who  thinks  proper  thus  to  vindicate  his  rank  ?” 

“  He  is  reckoned  one  of  the  bravest  men  in  our  host,”  answered  Baldwin, 
“  though  the  brave  are  as  numerous  there  as  the  sands  of  the  sea.  He  will 
himself  tell  you  his  name  and  rank.” 

Alexius  looked  at  the  Vavasour.  He  saw  nothing  in  his  large,  well-formed 
features,  lighted  by  a  wild  touch  of  enthusiasm  which  spoke  in  his  quick 
eye,  that  intimated  premeditated  insult,  and  was  induced  to  suppose  that 
what  had  occurred,  so  contrary  to  the  form  and  ceremonial  of  the  Grecian 
court,  was  neither  an  intentional  affront,  nor  designed  as  the  means  of  in¬ 
troducing  a  quarrel.  He  therefore  spoke  with  comparative  ease,  when  he 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


93 


addressed  the  stranger  thus:  —  “We  know  not  by  what  dignified  name  to 
salute  you  ;  hut  we  are  aware,  from  Count  Baldwin’s  information,  that  we 
are  honoured  in  having  in  our  presence  one  of  the  bravest  knights  whom  a 
sense  of  the  wrongs  done  to  the  Holy  Land  has  brought  thus  far  on  his  way 
to  Palestine,  to  free  it  from  its  bondage.” 

“If  you  mean  to  ask  my  name,”  answered  the  European  knight,  “any 
one  of  these  pilgrims  can  readily  satisfy  you,  and  more  gracefully  than  I 
can  myself;  since  we  use  to  say  in  our  country,  that  many  a  fierce  quarrel 
is  prevented  from  being  fought  out  by  an  untimely  disclosure  of  names, 
when  men,  who  might  have  fought  with  the  fear  of  God  before  their  eyes, 
must,  when  their  names  are  manifested,  recognise  each  other  as  spiritual 
allies,  by  baptism,  gossipred,  or  some  such  irresistible  bond  of  friendship ; 
whereas,  had  they  fought  first  and  told  their  names  afterwards,  they  could 
have  had  some  assurance  of  each  other’s  valour,  and  have  been  able  to  view 
their  relationship  as  an  honour  to  both.” 

“  Still,”  said  the  Emperor,  “methinks  I  would  know  if  you,  who,  in  this 
extraordinary  press  of  knights,  seem  to  assert  a  precedence  to  yourself, 
claim  the  dignity  due  to  a  king  or  prince?” 

“  IIow  speak  you  that?”  said  the  Frank,  with  a  brow  somewhat  over¬ 
clouded  ;  “do  you  feel  that  I  have  not  left  you  unjostled  by  my  advance  to 
these  squadrons  of  yours?” 

Alexius  hastened  to  answer,  that  he  felt  no  particular  desire  to  connect 
the  Count  with  an  affront  or  offence ;  observing,  that  in  the  extreme  neces¬ 
sity  of  the  Empire,  it  was  no  time  for  him,  who  was  at  the  helm,  to  engage 
in  idle  or  unnecessary  quarrels. 

The  Frankish  knight  heard  him,  and  answered  drily  —  “Since  such  are 
your  sentiments,  I  wonder  that  you  have  ever  resided  long  enough  Avithin 
the  hearing  of  the  French  language  to  learn  to  speak  it  as  you  do.  I  would 
have  thought  some  of  the  sentiments  of  the  chivalry  of  the  nation,  since 
you  are  neither  a  monk  nor  a  woman,  would,  at  the  same  time  with  the 
AYords  of  the  dialect,  have  found  their  way  into  your  heart.” 

“Hush,  Sir  Count,”  said  Bohemond,  who  remained  by  the  Emperor  to 
avert  the  threatening  quarrel.  “It  is  surely  requisite  to  answer  the  Em¬ 
peror  with  civility ;  and  those  who  are  impatient  for  warfare,  will  have  infi¬ 
dels  enough  to  wage  it  with.  He  only  demanded  your  name  and  lineage, 
Avhich  you  of  all  men  can  have  the  least  objection  to  disclose.” 

“I  know  not  if  it  will  interest  this  prince,  or  Emperor  as  you  term  him,” 
answered  the  Frank  Count;  “but  all  the  account  I  can  gi\’e  of  myself  is 
this :  —  In  the  midst  of  one  of  the  vast  forests  which  occupy  the  centre  of 
France,  my  native  country,  there  stands  a  chapel,  sunk  so  low  into  the 
ground,  that  it  seems  as  if  it  Avere  become  decrepid  by  its  own  great  age. 
The  image  of  the  Holy  Virgin  Avho  presides  OA^er  its  altar,  is  called  by  all 
men  our  Lady  of  the  Broken  Lances,  and  is  accounted  through  the  whole 
kingdom  the  most  celebrated  for  military  adventures.  Four  beaten  roads, 
each  leading  from  an  opposite  point  in  the  compass,  meet  before  the  prin¬ 
cipal  door  of  the  chapel ;  and  ever  and  anon,  as  a  good  knight  arrives  at 
this  place,  he  passes  in  to  the  performance  of  his  devotions  in  the  chapel, 
having  first  sounded  his  horn  three  times,  till  ash  and  oak-tree  quiver  and 
ring.  IlaA'ing  then  kneeled  doAvn  to  his  devotions,  he  seldom  arises  from 
the  mass  of  Her  of  the  Broken  Lances,  but  there  is  attending  on  his  leisure 
some  adventurous  knight  ready  to  satisfy  the  new  comer’s  desire  of  battle. 
This  station  have  I  held  for  a  month  and  more  against  all  comers,  and  all 
gave  me  fair  thanks  for  the  knightly  manner  of  quitting  myself  toAvards 
them,  except  one,  Avho  had  the  evil  hap  to  fall  from  his  horse,  and  did  break 
his  neck  ;  and  another,  who  was  struck  through  the  body,  so  that  the  lance 
came  out  behind  his  back  about  a  cloth-yard,  all  dripping  with  blood. 
Allowing  for  such  accidents,  Avhich  cannot  easily  be  avoided,  my  opponents 
})ai  Led  with  me  with  fair  acknoAvledgment  of  the  grace  I  had  done  them.” 


94 


WAVEHLEY  NOVELS. 


“  I  conceive,  Sir  Knight,’’  said  the  Emperor,  “  that  a  form  like  yours, 
animated  by  the  courage  you  display,  is  likely  to  find  few  equals  even  among 
your  adventurous  countrymen  ;  far  less  among  men  who  are  taught  that  to 
cast  away  their  lives  in  a  senseless  quarrel  among  themselves,  is  to  throw 
away,  like  a  boy,  the  gift  of  Providence.” 

“You  are  welcome  to  your  opinion,”  said  the  Frank,  somewhat  con¬ 
temptuously;  “yet  I  assure  you,  if  you  doubt  that  our  gallant  strife  was 
unmixed  with  sullenness  and  anger,  and  that  we  hunt  not  the  hart  or  the 
boar  with  merrier  hearts  in  the  evening,  than  w^e  discharge  our  task  of 
chivalry  by  the  morn  had  arisen,  before  the  portal  of  the  old  chapel,  you  do 
us  foul  injustice.” 

“  With  the  Turks  you  will  not  enjoy  this  amiable  exchange  of  courtesies,” 
answered  Alexius.  “  Wherefore  I  would  advise  you  neither  to  stray  far 
into  the  van  nor  into  the  rear,  but  to  abide  by  the  standard  where  the  best 
infidels  make  their  efforts,  and  the  best  knights  are  required  to  repel  them.” 

“  By  our  Lady  of  the  Broken  Lances,”  said  the  Crusader,  “  I  would  not 
that  the  Turks  were  more  courteous  than  they  are  Christian,  and  am  well 
pleased  that  unbeliever  and  heathen  hound  are  a  proper  description  for  the 
best  of  them,  as  being  traitor  alike  to  their  God  and  to  the  laws  of  chivalry; 
and  devoutly  do  I  trust  that  I  shall  meet  with  them  in  the  front  rank  of  our 
army,  beside  our  standard,  or  elsewhere,  and  have  an  open  field  to  my 
devoir  against  them,  both  as  the  enemies  of  our  Lady  and  the  holy  saints, 
and  as,  by  their  evil  customs,  more  expressly  my  own.  Meanwhile  you  have 
time  to  seat  yourself  and  receive  my  homage,  and  I  will  be  bound  to  you 
for  despatching  this  foolish  ceremony  with  as  little  waste  and  delay  of  time 
as  the  occasion  will  permit.” 

The  Emperor  hastily  seated  himself,  and  received  into  his  the  sinewy 
hands  of  the  Crusader,  who  made  the  acknowledgment  of  his  homage,  and 
was  then  guided  off  by  Count  Baldwin,  who  walked  with  the  stranger  to 
the  ships,  and  then,  apparently  well  pleased  at  seeing  him  in  the  course  of 
going  on  board,  returned  back  to  the  side  of  the  Emperor. 

“  What  is  the  name,”  said  the  Emperor,  “  of  that  singular  and  assuming 
man  ?” 

“It  is  Bobert,  Count  of  Paris,”  answered  Baldwin,  “accounted  one  of 
the  bravest  peers  who  stand  around  the  throne  of  France.” 

After  a  moment’s  recollection,  Alexius  Comnenus  issued  orders,  that  the 
ceremonial  of  the  day  should  be  discontinued,  afraid,  perhaps,  lest  the  rough 
and  careless  humour  of  the  strangers  should  produce  some  new  quarrel. 
The  crusaders  were  led,  nothing  loth,  back  to  palaces  in  which  they  had 
been  hospitably  received,  and  readily  resumed  the  interrupted  feast,  from 
which  they  had  been  called  to  pay  their  homage.  The  trumpets  of  the 
various  leaders  blew  the  recall  of  the  few  troops  of  an  ordinary  character 
who  were  attendant,  together  with  the  host  of  knights  and  leaders,  who, 
pleased  with  the  indulgences  provided  for  them,  and  obscurely  foreseeing 
that  the  passage  of  the  Bosphorus  would  be  the  commencement  of  their 
actual  suffering,  rejoiced  in  being  called  to  the  hither  side. 

It  was  not  probably  intended ;  but  the  hero,  as  he  might  be  styled,  of  the 
tumultuous  day.  Count  Robert  of  Paris,  who  was  already  on  his  road  to  em¬ 
barkation  on  the  strait,  was  disturbed  in  his  purpose  by  the  sound  of  recall 
which  was  echoed  around;  nor  could  Bohemond,  Godfrey,  or  any  one  who 
took  upon  him  to  explain  the  signal,  alter  his  resolution  of  returning  to 
Constantinople.  He  laughed  to  scorn  the  threatened  displeasure  of  the 
Emperor,  and  seemed  to  think  there  would  be  a  peculiar  pleasure  in  braving 
Alexius  at  his  own  board,  or,  at  least,  that  nothing  could  be  more  indifferent 
than  whether  he  gave  offence  or  not. 

To  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  to  AVhom  he  showed  some  respect,  he  was  still 
far  from  paying  deference ;  and  that  sagacious  prince,  having  used  every 
argument  which  might  shake  his  purpose  of  returning  to  the  imperial  city, 


COUNT  R  0  li  1':  R  T  OF  PARIS. 


95 


to  the  very  point  of  making  it  a  quarrel  with  him  in  person,  at  length  aban¬ 
doned  him  to  his  own  discretion,  and  pointed  him  out  to  the  Count  of  Thou- 
louse,  as  he  passed,  as  a  wild  knight-errant,  incapable  of  being  influenced 
by  any  thing  save  his  own  wayward  fancy.  “  lie  brings  not  five  hundred 
men  to  the  crusade,”  said  Godfrey  ;  “  and  I  dare  be  sworn,  that  even  in  this, 
the  very  outset  of  the  undertaking,  he  knows  not  where  these  five  hundred 
men  are,  and  how  their  wants  are  provided  for.  There  is  an  eternal  trumpet 
in  his  ear  sounding  to  assault,  nor  has  he  room  or  time  to  hear  a  milder  or 
more  rational  signal.  See  how'  he  strolls  along  yonder,  tlie  very  emblem  of 
an  idle  schoolboy,  broke  out  of  the  school-bounds  upon  a  holyday,  half  ani¬ 
mated  by  curiosity  and  half  by  love  of  mischief.” 

“  And,”  said  Kaymond,  Count  of  Thoulouse,  “  with  resolution  sufficient 
to  support  the  desperate  purpose  of  the  whole  army  of  devoted  crusaders. 
And  yet  so  passionate  a  Rodomont  is  Count  Robert,  that  he  w'ould  rather 
risk  the  success  of  the  whole  expedition,  that  omit  an  opportunity  of  meet¬ 
ing  a  worthy  antagonist  en  champ-clos,  or  lose,  as  he  terms  it,  a  chance  of 
worshipping  our  Lady  of  the  Broken  Lances.  Who  are  yon  with  w’hom  he 
has  now  met,  and  who  are  apparently  walking,  or  rather  strolling  in  the 
same  way  with  him,  back  to  Constantinople  ?” 

“An  armed  knight,  brilliantly  equipped  —  yet  of  something  less  than 
knightly  stature,”  answered  Godfrey.  “  It  is,  I  suppose,  the  celebrated 
lady  who  won  Robert's  heart  in  the  lists  of  battle,  by  bravery  and  valour 
equal  to  his  own ;  and  the  pilgrim  form  in  the  long  vestments  may  be  their 
daughter  or  niece.” 

“  A  singular  spectacle,  worthy  Knight,”  said  the  Count  of  Thoulouse, 
“  do  our  days  present  to  us,  to  which  we  have  had  nothing  similar,  sinee 
Gaita,*  wife  of  Robert  Guiscard,  first  took  upon  her  to  distinguish  herself 
by  manly  deeds  of  emprise,  and  rival  her  husband,  as  well  in  the  front  of 
battle  as  at  the  dancing-room  or  banquet.” 

“  Such  is  the  custom  of  this  pair,  most  noble  knight,”  answered  another 
Crusader,  who  had  joined  them,  “and  Heaven  pity  the  poor  man  who  has 
no  power  to  keep  domestic  peace  by  an  appeal  to  the  stronger  hand !” 

“Well!”  replied  Raymond,  “if  it  be  rather  a  mortifying  reflection,  that 
the  lady  of  our  love  is  far  past  the  bloom  of  youth,  it  is  a  consolation  that 
she  is  too  old-fashioned  to  beat  us,  when  we  return  back  with  no  more  of 
youth  or  manhood  than  a  long  crusade  has  left.  But  come,  follow  on  the 
road  to  Constantinople,  and  in  the  rear  of  this  most  doughty  kniglit.” 

•  This  Amazon  makes  a  conspicuous  figure  in  Anna  Comnena’s  account  of  her  father’s  cainpaigns  against 
Robert  Guiscard.  On  one  occasion  (Aiexiud,  lib  iv.  p.  93)  she  represents  her  as  thus  recalliiii’  the  fugitive 
soldiery  of  her  husband  to  their  duty,—'  H  Se  ye  Taira  HuAAaf  aAAr?,  kov  nrj  KQtjvti  kut  utircav  [xcyiftjv 
a^uaa  (fxuvrjv^  fiovov  ov  to  ’ OfiripiKOV  ettoj  ry  i6ia  biaXiKrip  \tytiv  fioKCt.  noay  ipev^cade 

<TTi}T£  avcpes  fcrt.  'Slf  Ss  en  ipcvyovras  ruryg  euipa,  bopv  piaKpov  ivayKa\iaap£vrj,  6A»f  ^vrypat 

ivSyga  Kara  nov  (ptvyovruiv  urai. — That  is,  exhorting  Ihein,  in  all  hut  Homeric  language,  at  the  top  of 
her  voice  ;  and  when  this  failed,  brandishing  a  long  spear,  and  rushing  upon  the  fugitives  at  the  utmost  speed 
of  her  horse. 

This  heroic  lady,  according  to  the  Chronitjxie  Scandal  fuse,  of  those  days,  was  afterwards  deluded  by  some 
cunning  overtures  of  the  Greek  Emperor,  and  poisoned  her  hu.sband  in  expectation  of  gaining  a  place  on  the 
throne  of  Constantinople.  Ducange,  however,  rejects  the  story,  and  so  does  Giblion. 


9(5 


WAVEKLEY  NOVELS. 


(Cjiaptn  tjiB  (KBntjj. 

Those  were  wild  times— the  antipodes  of  ours : 

Ladies  were  there,  who  oftener  saw  themselves 
In  the  broad  lustre  of  a  foeman’s  shield 
Than  in  a  mirror,  and  who  rather  soug-ht 
To  match  themselves  in  battle,  than  in  dalliance 
To  meet  a  lover’s  onset.— But  though  Nature 
Was  outraged  thus,  she  was  not  overcome. 

Feudal  Times. 

Brenhilda,  Countess  of  Paris,  was  one  of  those  stalwart  dames  who  wil¬ 
lingly  hazarded  themselves  in  the  front  of  battle,  which,  during  the  first 
crusade,  was  as  common  as’  it  was  possible  for  a  very  unnatural  custom  to 
be,  and,  in  fact,  gave  the  real  instances  of  the  Marphisas  and  Bradamantes, 
whom  the  writers  of  romance  delighted  to  paint,  assigning  them  sometimes 
the  advantage  of  invulnerable  armour,  or  a  spear  whose  thrust  did  not 
admit  of  being  resisted,  in  order  to  soften  the  improbability  of  the  weaker 
sex  being  frequently  victorious  over  the  male  part  of  the  creation. 

Blit  the  spell  of  Brenhilda  ^as  of  a  more  simple  nature,  and  rested 
chiefly  in  her  great  beauty. 

From  a  girl  she  despised  the  pursuits  of  her  sex ;  and  they  who  ventured 
to  become  suitors  for  the  hand  of  the  young  Lady  of  Aspramonte,  to  which 
warlike  fief  she  had  succeeded,  and  which  perhaps  encouraged  her  in  her 
fancy,  received  for  answer,  that  they  must  first  merit  it  by  their  good  beha¬ 
viour  in  the  lists.  The  fiither  of  Brenhilda  was  dead;  her  mother  was  of 
a  gentle  temper,  and  easily  kept  under  management  by  the  young  lady 
herself. 

Brenhilda’s  numerous  suitors  readily  agreed  to  terms  which  were  too 
much  according,  to  the  manners  of  the  age  to  be  disputed.  A  tournament 
was  held  at  the  Castle  of  Aspramonte,  in  which  one  half  of  the  gallant  as¬ 
sembly  rolled  headlong  before  their  successful  rivals,  and  withdrew  from  the 
lists  mortified  and  disappointed.  The  successful  party  among  the  suitors 
were  expected  to  be  summoned  to  joust  among  themselves.  But  they  werq 
surprised  at  being  made  acquainted  with  the  lady’s  further  will.  She 
aspired  to  wear  armour  herself,  to  wield  a  lance,  and  back  a  steed,  and 
prayed  the  knights  that  they  would  permit  a  lady,  whom  they  professed  to 
honour  so  highly,  to  mingle  in  their  games  of  chivalry.  The  young  knights 
courteously  received  their  young  mistress  in  the  lists,  and  smiled  at  the  idea 
of  her  holding  them  triumphantly  against  so  many  gallant  champions  of 
the  other  sex.  But  the  vassals  and  old  servants  of  the  Count,  her  father, 
smiled  to  each  other,  and  intimated  a  different  result  than  the  gallants  anti¬ 
cipated.  The  knights  who  encountered  the  fair  Brenhilda  were  one  by  one 
stretched  on  the  sand;  nor  was  it  to  be  denied,  that  the  situation  of  tilting 
with  one  of  the  handsomest  women  of  the  time  was  an  extremely  embar¬ 
rassing  one.  Each  youth  was  bent  to  withhold  his  charge  in  full  volley,  to 
cause  his  steed  to  swerve  at  the  full  shock,  or  in  some  other  way  to  flinch 
from  doing  the  utmost  which  was  necessary  to  gain  the  victory,  lest,  in  so 
gaining  it,  he  might  cause  irreparable  injury  to  the  beautiful  opponent  he 
tilted  with.  But  the  Lady  of  Aspramonte  was  not  one  who  could  be  con¬ 
quered  by  less  than  the  exertion  of  the  whole  strength  and  talents  of  the 
victor.  The  defeated  suitors  departed  from  the  lists  the  more  mortified  at 
their  discomfiture,  because  l^obert  of  Paris  arrived  at  sunset,  and,  under¬ 
standing  what  was  going  forward,  sent  his  name  to  the  barriers,  as  that  of 
a  knight  who  would  willingly  forego  the  reward  of  the  tournament,  in  case 
he  had  the  fortune  to  gain  it,  declaring,  that  neither  lands  nor  ladies’ 


COUNT  HUBERT  OF  PARIS. 


charms  were  what  he  came  thither  to  seek.  Brenhilda,  piqued  and  morti- 
lied,  chose  a  new  lance,  mounted  her  best  steed,  and  advanced  into  the  lists 
as  one  determined  to  avenge  upon  the  new  assailant’s  brow  the  slight  of  her 
charms  which  he  seemed  to  express.  But  whether  her  displeasure  had 
somewhat  interfered  with  her  usual  skill,  or  whether  she  had,  like  others 
of  her  sex,  felt  a  partiality  towards  one  whose  heart  was  not  particularly 
set  upon  gaining  hers  —  or  whether,  as  is  often  said  on  such  occasions,  her 
fated  hour  was  come,  so  it  was  that  Count  Robert  tilted  with  his  usual 
address  and  good  fortune.  Brenhilda  of  Aspramonte  was  unhorsed  and 
unhelmed,  and  stretched  on  the  earth,  and  the  beautiful  face,  which  hided 
from  very  red  to  deadly  pale  before  the  eyes  of  the  victor,  produced  its 
natural  effect  in  raising  the  value  of  his  conquest.  He  would,  in  conformity 
wdth  his  resolution,  have  left  the  castle  after  having  mortified  the  vanity  of 
the  lady ;  but  her  mother  opportunely  interposed  ;  and  when  she  had  satis¬ 
fied  herself  that  no  serious  injury  had  been  sustained  by  the  young  heiress, 
she  returned  her  thanks  to  the  stranger  knight  who  had  taught  her  daughter 
a  lesson,  which,  she  trusted,  she  would  not  easily  forget.  Thus  tempted  to 
do  what  he  secretly  wished.  Count  Robert  gave  ear  to  those  sentiments, 
which  naturally  whispered  to  him  to  be  in  no  hurry  to  withdraw. 

He  was  of  the  blood  of  Charlemagne,  and,  what  was  still  of  more  conse¬ 
quence  in  the  young  lady’s  eyes,  one  of  the  most  renowned  of  Norman 
knights  in  that  jousting  day.  After  a  residence  of  ten  days  in  the  castle 
of  Aspramonte,  the  bride  and  bridegroom  set  out,  for  such  Avas  Count 
Robert’s  Avill,  with  a  competent  train,  to  our  Lady  of  the  Broken  Lances, 
where  it  pleased  him  to  be  wedded.  Two  knights  who  were  waiting  to  do 
battle,  as  was  the  custom  of  the  place,  were  rather  disappointed  at  the 
nature  of  the  cavalcade,  which  seemed  to  interrupt  their  purpose.  But 
greatly  were  they  surprised  when  they  received  a  cartel  from  the  betrothed 
couple,  offering  to  substitute  their  own  persons  in  the  room  of  other  antago¬ 
nists,  and  congratulating  themselves  in  commencing  their  married  life  in  a 
manner  so  consistent  with  that  Avhich  they  had  hitherto  led.  They  were 
victorious  as  usual ;  and  the  only  persons  having  occasion  to  rue  the  com¬ 
plaisance  of  the  Count  and  his  bride,  were  the  two  strangers,  one  of  whom 
broke  an  arm  in  the  rencontre,  and  the  other  dislocated  a  collar-bone. 

Count  Robert’s  course  of  knight-errantry  did  not  seem  to  be  in  the  least 
intermitted  by  his  marriage ;  on  the  contrary,  when  he  Avas  called  upon  to 
support  his  renown,  his  wife  was  often  known  also  in  military  exploits,  nor 
Avas  she  inferior  to  him  in  thirst  after  fame.  They  both  assumed  the  cross 
at  the  same  time,  that  being  then  the  predominating  folly  in  Europe. 

The  Countess  Brenhilda  was  now  above  six-and-twenty  years  old,  with  as 
much  beauty  as  can  well  fall  to  the  share  of  an  Amazon.  A  figure,  of  the 
largest  feminine  size,  was  surmounted  by  a  noble  countenance,  to  AA^hich 
even  repeated  Avarlike  toils  had  not  given  more  than  a  sunny  hue,  relieved 
by  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  such  parts  of  her  face  as  were  not  usually 
displayed. 

As  Alexius  gave  orders  that  his  retinue  should  return  to  Constantinople, 
he  spoke  in  private  to  the  Folloiver,  Achilles  Tatius.  The  Satrap  answered 
with  a  submissive  bend  of  the  head,  and  separated  with  a  few  attendants 
from  the  main  body  of  the  Emperor’s  train.  The  principal  road  to  the  city 
was,  of  course,  filled  with  the  troops,  aqd  A\’ith  the  numerous  crowds  of 
spectators,  all  of  whom  were  inconvenienced  in  some  degree  by  the  dust 
and  heat  of  the  weather. 

Count  Robert  of  Paris  had  embarked  his  horses  on  board  of  ship,  and 
all  his  retinue,  except  an  old  squire  or  valet  of  his  own,  and  an  attendant 
of  his  wife.  He  felt  himself  more  incommoded  in  this  crowd  than  he  de¬ 
sired,  especially  as  his  A\dfe  shared  it  Avith  him,  and  began  to  look  among 
the  scattered  trees  which  fringed  the  shores,  down  almost  to  the  tide-mark, 
to  see  if  he  could  discern  any  by-path  which  might  carry  them  more  circui- 

VoL.  XII.  —  7  I. 


98 


W  A  V  E  R  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 


tously,  but  more  pleasantly,  to  the  city,  and  afford  them  at  the  same  time, 
what  was  their  principal  object  in  the  East,  strange  sights,  or  adventures 
of  chivalry.  A  broad  and  beaten  path  seemed  to  promise  them  all  the 
enjoyment  which  shade  could  give  in  a  warm  climate.  The  ground  through 
which  it  wound  its  way  was  beautifully  broken  by  the  appearance  of 
temples,  churches,  and  kiosks,  and  here  and  there  a  fountain  distributed 
its  silver  produce,  like  a  benevolent  individual,  who,  self-denying  to  him¬ 
self,  is  liberal  to  all  others  who  are  in  necessity.  The  distant  sound  of  the 
martial  music  still  regaled  their  way ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  as  it  detained 
the  populace  on  the  high-road,  prevented  the  strangers  from  becoming  in¬ 
commoded  with  fellow-travellers. 

Rejoicing  in  the  abated  heat  of  the  day — wondering,  at  the  same  time,  at 
the  various  kinds  of  architecture,  the  strange  features  of  the  landscape,  or 
accidental  touches  of  manners,  exhibited  by  those  who  met  or  passed  them 
upon  their  journey,  they  strolled  easily  onwards.  One  figure  particularly 
caught  the  attention  of  the  Countess  Brenhilda.  This  was  an  old  man  of 
great  stature,  engaged,  apparently,  so  deeply  with  the  roll  of  parchment 
which  he  held  in  his  hand,  that  he  paid  no  attention  to  the  objects  which 
w'ere  passing  around  him.  Deep  thought  appeared  to  reign  on  his  brow, 
and  his  eye  was  of  that  piercing  kind  which  seems  designed  to  search  and 
winnow  the  frivolous  from  the  edifying  part  of  human  discussion,  and  limit 
its  inquiry  to  the  last.  Raising  his  eyes  slowly  from  the  parchment  on 
which  he  had  been  gazing,  the  look  of  Agelastes — for  it  was  the  sage  him¬ 
self  ■— encountered  those  of  Count  Robert  and  his  lady,  and  addressing 
them  with  the  kindly  epithet  of  “  my  children, he  asked  if  they  had 
missed  their  road,  or  whether  there  was  any  thing  in  which  he  could  do 
them  any  pleasure. 

“AVe  are  strangers,  father,'’  was  the  answer,  “from  a  distant  country, 
and  belongiug  to  the  army  which  has  passed  hither  upon  pilgrimage ;  one 
object  brings  us  here  in  common,  we  hope,  with  all  that  host.  We  desire  to 
pay  our  devotions  where  the  great  ransom  was  paid  for  us,  and  to  free,  by 
our  good  swords,  enslaved  Palestine,  from  the  usurpation  and  tyranny  of 
the  infidel.  AVhen  we  have  said  this,  we  have  announced  our  highest 
human  motive.  Yet  Robert  of  Paris  and  his  Countess  would  not  willingly 
set  their  foot  on  a  land,  save  what  should  resound  its  echo.  They  have  not 
been  accustomed  to  move  in  silence  upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  they 
would  purchase  an  eternal  life  of  fame,  though  it  were  at  the  price  of 
mortal  existence." 

“  You  seek,  then,  to  barter  safety  for  fame,"  said  Agelastes,  “  though 
you  may,  perchance,  throw  death  into  the  scale  by  w^hich  you  hope  to 
gain  it?" 

“  Assuredly,"  said  Count  Robert;  “nor  is  there  one  wearing  such  a  belt 
as  this,  to  whom  such  a  thought  is  stranger." 

“And  as  I  understand,"  said  Agelastes,  “your  lady  shares  with  your 
honourable  self  in  these  valorous  resolutions  ? — Can  this  be  ?" 

“  You  may  undervalue  my  female  courage,  father,  if  such  is  your  will," 
said  the  Countess;  “but  I  speak  in  presence  of  a  witness  who  can  attest 
the  truth,  when  I  say  that  a  man  of  half  your  years  had  not  doubted  the 
truth  with  impunity." 

“Nay,  Heaven  protect  me  from  the  lightning  of  your  eyes,"  said  Agel¬ 
astes,  “  whether  in  anger  or  in  scorn.  I  bear  an  gegis  about  myself  against 
what  I  should  else  have  feared.  But  age,  with  its  incapacities,  brings  also 
its  apologies.  Perhaps,  indeed,  it  is  one  like  me  whom  you  seek  to  find, 
and  in  that  case  I  should  be  happy  to  render  to  you  such  services  as  it  is 
my  duty  to  offer  to  all  worthy  knights." 

“  I  have  already  said,"  replied  Count  Robert,  “  that  after  the  accomplish¬ 
ment  of  my  vow,"  —  he  looked  upwards  and  crossed  himself,  —  “there  is 
nothing  on  earth  to  which  T  am  more  bound  than  to  celebrate  my  name  in 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


09 


arms  as  becomes  a  valiant  cavalier.  When  men  die  obscurely,  they  die  for 
ever.  Had  my  ancestor  Charles  never  left  the  paltry  banks  of  the  Saale, 
he  had  not  now  been  much  better  known  than  any  vine-dresser  who  wielded 
his  pruning-hook  in  the  same  territories.  But  he  bore  him  like  a  brave 
man,  and  his  name  is  deathless  in  the  memory  of  the  worthy.^’ 

“  Young  man,’’  said  the  old  Grecian,  “  although  it  is  but  seldom  that 
such  as  you,  whom  I  was  made  to  serve  and  to  value,  visit  this  country,  it 
is  not  the  less  true  that  I  am  well  qualified  to  serve  you  in  the  matter  which 
you  have  so  much  at  heart.  My  acquaintance  with  nature  has  been  so  per¬ 
fect  and  so  long,  that,  during  its  continuance,  she  has  disappeared,  and  an¬ 
other  Avorld  has  been  spread  before  me,  in  which  she  has  but  little  to  do. 
Thus  the  curious  stores  which  I  have  assembled  are  beyond  the  researches 
of  other  men,  and  not  to  be  laid  before  those  whose  deeds  of  valour  are  to 
be  bounded  by  the  ordinary  probabilities  of  everyday  nature.  No  romancer 
of  your  romantic  country  ever  devised  such  extraordinary  adventures  out 
of  his  own  imagination,  and  to  feed  the  idle  wonder  of  those  who  sat  listening 
around,  as  those  p  Inch  I  know,  not  of  idle  invention,  but  of  real  positive 
existence,  with  the  means  of  achieving  and  accomplishing  the  conditions  of 
each  adventure.” 

“If  such  be  your  real  profession,”  said  the  French  Count,  “you  have 
met  one  of  those  whom  you  chiefly  search  for ;  nor  will  my  Countess  and  I 
stir  farther  upon  our  road  until  you  have  pointed  out  to  us  some  one  of  those 
adventures  which  it  is  the  business  of  errant-knights  to  be  industrious  in 
seeking  out.” 

So  saying,  he  sat  doAvn  by  the  side  of  the  old  man  ;  and  his  lady,  with  a 
degree  of  reverence  which  had  something  in  it  almost  diverting,  followed 
his  example. 

“We  have  fallen  right,  Brenhilda,”  said  Count  Robert;  “our  guardian 
angel  has  watched  his  charge  carefully.  Here  have  we  come  among  an 
ignorant  set  of  pedants,  chattering  their  absurd  language,  and  holding  more 
important  the  least  look  that  a  cowardly  Emperor  can  give,  than  the  best 
blow  that  a  good  knight  can  deal.  Believe  me,  I  was  wellnigh  thinking 
that  we  had  done  ill  to  take  the  cross — God  forgive  such  an  impious  doubt ! 
Yet  here,  when  we  were  even  despairing  to  find  the  road  to  fame,  we  have 
met  with  one  of  those  excellent  men  whom  the  knights  of  yore  were  wont 
to  find  sitting  by  springs,  by  crosses,  and  by  altars,  ready  to  direct  the  wan¬ 
dering  knight  where  fame  was  to  be  found.  Disturb  him  not,  my  Bren¬ 
hilda,”  said  the  Count,  “  but  let  him  recall  to  himself  his  stories  of  the 
ancient  time,  and  thou  shalt  see  he  will  enrich  us  with  the  treasures  of  his 
information.” 

“  If,”  replied  Agelastes,  after  some  pause,  “  I  have  waited  for  a  longer 
term  than  human  life  is  granted  to  most  men,  I  shall  still  be  overpaid  by 
dedicating  what  remains  of  existence  to  the  service  of  a  pair  so  devoted  to 
chivalry.  What  first  occurs  to  me  is  a  story  of  our  Greek  country,  so 
famous  in  adventures,  and  M’hich  I  shall  briefly  detail  to  you : — 

“  Afar  hence,  in  our  renowned  Grecian  Archipelago,  amid  storms  and 
whirlpools,  rocks  which,  changing  their  character,  appear  to  precipitate 
themselves  against  each  other,  and  billows  that  are  never  in  a  pacific  state, 
lies  the  rich  island  of  Zulmhium,  inhabited,  notwithstanding  its  wealth,  by 
a  very  few  natives,  who  live  only  upon  the  sea-coast.  The  inland  part  of 
the  island  is  one  immense  mountain,  or  pile  of  mountains,  amongst  which, 
those  who  dare  approach  near  enough,  may,  we  are  assured,  discern  the 
moss-grown  and  antiquated  towers  and  pinnacles  of  a  stately,  but  ruinous 
castle,  the  habitation  of  the  sovereign  of  the  island,  in  which  she  has  been 
enchanted  for  a  gi-eat  many  years. 

“  A  bold  knight,  who  came  upon  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem,  made  a  vow 
to  deliver  this  unhappy  victim  of  pain  and  sorcery  ;  feeling,  with  justice, 
vehemently  offended,  that  the  fiends  of  darkness  should  exercise  any  authu- 


•JOO 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


rity  near  the  Holy  Land,  which  might  be  termed  the  very  fountain  of  light. 
Two  of  the  oldest  inhabitants  of  the  island  undertook  to  guide  him  as  near 
to  the  main  gate  as  they  durst,  nor  did  they  approach  it  more  closely  than 
the  length  of  a  bow-shot.  Here,  then,  abandoned  to  himself,  the  brave 
Frank  set  forth  upon  his  enterprise,  with  a  stout  heart,  and  Heaven  alone  to 
friend.  The  fabric  which  he  approached  showed,  by  its  gigantic  size,  and 
splendour  of  outline,  the  power  and  wealth  of  the  potentate  who  had  erected 
it.  The  brazen  gates  unfolded  themselves  as  if  with  hope  and  pleasure ; 
and  aerial  voices  swept  around  the  spires  and  turrets,  congratulating  the 
genius  of  the  place,  it  might  be,  upon  the  expected  approach  of  its  de¬ 
liverer. 

“  The  knight  passed  on,  not  unmoved  with  wonder,  though  untainted  by 
fear ;  and  the  Gothic  splendours  which  he  saw  were  of  a  kind  highly  to 
exalt  his  idea  of  the  beauty  of  the  mistress  for  whom  a  prison-house  had 
been  so  richly  decorated.  Guards  there  were  in  Eastern  dress  and  arms, 
upon  bulwark  and  buttress,  in  readiness,  it  appeared,  to  bend  their  bows ; 
but  th^  warriors  were  motionless  and  silent,  and  took  no  more  notice  of  the 
armed  step  of  the  knight  than  if  a  monk  or  hermit  had  approached  their 
guarded  post.  They  were  living,  and  yet,  as  to  all  power  and  sense,  they 
might  be  considered  among  the  dead.  If  there  was  truth  in  the  old  tradi¬ 
tion,  the  sun  had  shone  and  the  rain  had  fallen  upon  them  for  more  than 
four  hundred  changing  seasons,  without  their  being  sensible  of  the  genial 
warmth  of  the  one  or  the  coldness  of  the  other.  Like  the  Israelites  in  the 
desert,  their  shoes  had  not  decayed,  nor  their  vestments  waxed  old.  As 
Time  left  them,  so  and  without  alteration  was  he  again  to  find  them,^^  The 
philosopher  began  now  to  recall  what  he  had  heard  of  the  cause  of  their 
enchantment. 

“  The  sage  to  whom  this  potent  charm  is  imputed,  was  one  of  the  Magi 
who  followed  the  tenets  of  Zoroaster.  He  had  come  to  the  court  of  this 
youthful  Princess,  who  received  him  with  every  attention  w'hich  gratified 
vanity  could  dictate,  so  that  in  a  short  time  her  awe  of  this  grave  personage 
was  lost  in  the  sense  of  ascendency  which  her  beauty  gave  her  over  him. 
It  was  no  difficult  matter  —  in  fact  it  happens  every  day  —  for  the  beautiful 
woman  to  lull  the  wise  man  into  what  is  not  inaptly  called  a  fooFs  paradise. 
The  sage  was  induced  to  attempt  feats  of  youth  which  his  years  rendered 
ridiculous ;  he  could  command  the  elements,  but  the  common  course  of 
nature  was  beyond  his  power.  When,  therefore,  he  exerted  his  magic 
strength,  the  mountains  bent  and  the  seas  receded ;  but  when  the  philoso¬ 
pher  attempted  to  lead  forth  the  Princess  of  Zulichium  in  the  youthful 
dance,  youths  and  maidens  turned  their  heads  aside  lest  they  should  make 
too  manifest  the  ludicrous  ideas  with  which  they  were  impressed. 

“  Unhappily,  as  the  aged,  even  the  wisest  of  them,  will  forget  themselves, 
so  the  young  naturally  enter  into  an  alliance  to  spy  out,  ridicule,  and  enjoy 
their  foibles.  Many  were  the  glances  which  the  Princess  sent  among  her 
retinue,  intimating  the  nature  of  the  amusement  which  she  received  from 
the  attentions  of  her  formidable  lover.  In  process  of  time  she  lost  her 
caution,  and  a  glance  was  detected,  expressing  to  the  old  man  the  ridicule 
and  contempt  in  which  he  had  been  all  along  held  by  the  object  of  his 
affections.  Earth  has  no  passion  so  bitter  as  love  converted  to  hatred  ;  and 
while  the  sage  bitterly  regretted  what  he  had  done,  he  did  not  the  less 
resent  the  light-hearted  folly  of  the  Princess  by  whom  he  had  been  duped. 

“  If,  however,  he  was  angry,  he  possessed  the  art  to  conceal  it.  Not  a 
word,  not  a  look  expressed  the  bitter  disappointment  which  he  had  received. 
A  shade  of  melancholy,  or  r^ather  gloom,  upon  his  brow,  alone  intimated 
the  coming  storm.  The  Princess  became  somewhat  alarmed ;  she  was 
besides  extremely  good-natured,  nor  had  her  intentions  of  leading  the  old 
}iiau  into  what  would  render  him  ridiculous,  been  so  accurately  planned 
with  malice  prepense,  as  they  were  the  effect  of  accident  and  chance.  She 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS.  101 

saw  the  pain  which  he  suticred,  and  thought  to  end  it  by  going  up  to  him, 
when  about  to  retire,  and  kindly  wishing  him  good-night. 

“  ‘  You  say  well,  daughter,^  said  the  sago,  ‘  good-night  —  but  who,  of  the 
numbers  who  hear  me,  shall  say  good-morning?’ 

“  The  speech  drew  little  attention,  although  two  or  three  persons  to  whom 
the  character  of  the  sage  was  known,  fled  from  the  island  that  very  night, 
and  by  their  report  made  known  the  circumstances  attending  the  first  inflic¬ 
tion  of  this  extraordinary  spell  on  those  who  remained  within  the  Castle. 
A  sleep  like  that  of  death  fell  upon  them,  and  was  not  removed.  Most  of 
the  inhabitants  left  the  island ;  the  few  who  remained  were  cautious  how 
they  approached  the  Castle,  and  watched  until  some  bold  adventurer  should 
bring  that  happy  awakening  which  the  speech  of  the  sorcerer  seemed  in 
some  degree  to  intimate. 

“Never  seemed  there  a  fairer  opportunity  for  that  awakening  to  take 
place  than  when  the  proud  step  of  Artavan  de  llautlieu  was  placed  upon 
those  enchanted  courts.  On  the  left,  lay  the  palace  and  donjon-keep ;  but 
the  right,  more  attractive,  seemed  to  invite  to  the  apartment  of  the  women. 
At  a  side  door,  reclined  on  a  couch,  two  guards  of  the  haram,  with  their 
naked  swords  grasped  in  their  hands,  and  features  fiendishly  contorted 
between  sleep  and  dissolution,  seemed  to  menace  death  to  any  who  should 
venture  to  approach.  This  threat  deterred  not  Artavan  de  llautlieu.  He 
approached  the  entrance,  when  the  doors,  like  those  of  the  great  entrance 
to  the  Castle,  made  themselves  instantly  accessible  to  him.  A  guard-room 
of  the  same  effeminate  soldiers  received  him,  nor  could  the  strictest  exami¬ 
nation  have  discovered  to  him  whether  it  was  sleep  or  death  which  arrested 
the  eyes  that  seemed  to  look  upon  and  prohibit  his  advance.  Unheeding 
the  presence  of  these  ghastly  sentinels,  Artavan  pressed  forward  into  an 
inner  apartment,  where  female  slaves  of  the  most  distinguished  beauty 
were  visible  in  the  attitude  of  those  who  had  already  assumed  their  dress 
for  the  night.  There  was  much  in  this  scene  which  might  have  arrested  so 
young  a  pilgrim  as  Artavan  of  llautlieu ;  but  his  heart  was  fixed  on 
achieving  the  freedom  of  the  beautiful  Princess,  nor  did  he  suffer  himself 
to  be  withdrawn  from  that  object  by  any  inferior  consideration.  He 
passed  on,  therefore,  to  a  little  ivory  door,  which,  after  a  moment’s 
pause,  as  if  in  maidenly  hesitation,  gave  way  like  the  rest,  and  yielded 
access  to  the  sleeping  apartment  of  the  Princess  herself.  A  soft  light, 
resembling  that  of  evening,  penetrated  into  a  chamber  where  every  thing 
seemed  contrived  to  exalt  the  luxury  of  slumber.  The  heaps  of  cushions, 
which  formed  a  stately  bed,  seemed  rather  to  be  touched  than  impressed 
by  the  form  of  a  nymph  of  fifteen,  the  renowned  Princess  of  Zulichium.” 

“  "Without  interrupting  you,  good  father,”  said  the  Countess  Brenhilda, 
“  it  seems  to  me  that  we  can  comprehend  the  picture  of  a  woman  asleep 
without  much  dilating  upon  it,  and  that  such  a  subject  is  little  recom¬ 
mended  either  by  our  age  or  by  yours.” 

“  IWdon  me,  noble  lady,”  answered  Agelastes,  “  the  most  approved  part 
of  my  story  has  ever  been  this  passage,  and  while  I  now  suppress  it  in 
obedience  to  your  command,  bear  notice,  I  pray  you,  that  I  sacrifice  the 
most  beautiful  part  of  the  tale.” 

“Brenhilda,”  added  the  Count,  “I  am  surprised  you  think  of  inter¬ 
rupting  a  story  w^hich  has  hitherto  proceeded  with  so  much  fire ;  the  telling 
of  a  few  words  more  or  less  will  surely  have  a  much  greater  influence  upon 
the  sense  of  the  narrative,  than  such  an  addition  can  possibly  possess  over 
our  sentiments  of  action.” 

“  As  you  will,”  said  his  lady,  throwing  herself  carelessly  back  upon  tho 
seat ;  “  but  methinks  the  worthy  father  protracts  this  discourse,  till  it  be¬ 
comes  of  a  nature  more  trifling  than  interesting.” 

“  Brenhilda,”  said  the  Count,  “  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  remarked  in 
jmu  a  woman’s  weakness.” 


102 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


“  I  may  as  well  say,  Count  Robert,  that  it  is  the  first  time,”  answered 
Brenhilda,  “  that  you  have  shown  to  me  the  inconstancy  of  your  sex.” 

“  Gods  and  goddesses,”  said  the  philosopher,  “  was  ever  known  a  quarrel 
more  absurdly  founded  !  The  Countess  is  jealous  of  one  whom  her  husband 
probably  never  will  see,  nor  is  there  any  prospect  that  the  Princess  of  Zuli- 
chiura  will  be  hereafter  better  known  to  the  modern  world,  than  if  the  cur¬ 
tain  hung  before  her  tomb.” 

“  Proceed,”  said  Count  Robert  of  Paris  ;  “  if  Sir  Artavan  of  Hautlieu  has 
not  accomplished  the  enfranchisement  of  the  Princess  of  Zulichium,  I  make 
a  vow  to  our  Lady  of  the  Broken  Lances,”  — 

“  Remember,”  said  his  lady  interfering,  “that  you  are  already  under  a 
vow  to  free  the  Sepulchre  of  God ;  and  to  that,  methinks,  all  lighter  engage¬ 
ments  might  give  place.” 

“Well,  lady — well,”  said  Count  Robert,  but  half  satisfied  with  this  inter¬ 
ference,  “  I  will  not  engage  myself,  you  may  be  assured,  on  any  adventure 
which  may  claim  precedence  of  the  enterprise  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  to 
which  we  are  all  bound.” 

“Alas!”  said  Agelastes,  “the  distance  of  Zulichium  from  the  speediest 
route  to  the  sepulchre  is  so  small  that” - 

“Worthy  father,”  said  the  Countess,  “we  will,  if  it  pleases  you,  hear 
your  tale  to  an  end,  and  then  determine  what  we  will  do.  We  Norman 
ladies,  descendants  of  the  old  Germans,  claim  a  voice  with  our  lords  in  the 
council  which  precedes  the  battle ;  nor  has  our  assistance  in  the  conflict 
been  deemed  altogether  useless.” 

The  tone  in  which  this  was  spoken  conveyed  an  awkward  innuendo  to  the 
philosopher,  who  began  to  foresee  that  the  guidance  of  the  Norman  knight 
would  be  more  difficult  than  he  had  foreseen,  while  his  consort  remained  by 
his  side.  He  took  up,  therefore,  his  oratory  on  somewhat  a  lower  key  than 
before,  and  avoided  those  warm  descriptions  which  had  given  such  offence 
to  the  Countess  Brenhilda. 

“  Sir  Artavan  de  Hautlieu,  says  the  story,  considered  in  what  way  he 
should  accost  the  sleeping  damsel,  when  it  occurred  to  him  in  what  manner 
the  charm  would  be  most  likely  to  be  reversed.  I  am  in  your  judgment, 
fair  lady,  if  he  judged  wrong  in  resolving  that  the  method  of  his  address 
should  be  a  kiss  upon  the  lips.”  The  colour  of  Brenhilda  was  somewhat 
heightened,  but  she  did  not  deem  the  observation  worthy  of  notice. 

“  Never  had  so  innocent  an  action,”  continued  the  philosopher,  “  an  effect 
more  horrible.  The  delightful  light  of  a  summer  evening  was  instantly 
changed  into  a  strange  lurid  hue,  which,  infected  with  sulphur,  seemed  to 
breathe  suffocation  through  the  apartment.  The  rich  hangings,  and  splendid 
furniture  of  the  chamber,  the  very  walls  themselves,  were  changed  into  huge 
stones  tossed  together  at  random,  like  the  inside  of  a  wild  beasPs  den,  nor 
was  the  den  without  an  inhabitant.  The  beautiful  and  innocent  lips  to 
which  Artavan  de  Hautlieu  had  approached  his  own,  were  now  changed 
into  the  hideous  and  bizarre  form,  and  bestial  aspect  of  a  fiery  dragon.  A 
moment  she  hovered  upon  the  wing,  and  it  is  said,  had  Sir  Artavan  found 
courage  to  repeat  his  salute  three  times,  he  would  then  have  remained 
master  of  all  the  wealth,  and  of  the  disenchanted  princess.  But  the  oppor¬ 
tunity  was  lost,  and  the  dragon,  or  the  creature  who  seemed  such,  sailed 
out  at  a  side  window  upon  its  broad  pennons,  uttering  loud  wails  of  disap¬ 
pointment.” 

Here  ended  the  story  of  Agelastes.  “  The  Princess,”  he  said,  “  is  still 
supposed  to  abide  her  doom  in  the  Island  of  Zulichium,  and  several  knights 
have  undertaken  the  adventu^re ;  but  I  know  not  whether  it  was  the  fear  of 
saluting  the  sleeping  maiden,  or  that  of  approaching  the  dragon  into  which 
she  was  transformed,  but  so  it  is,  the  spell  remains  unachieved.  I  know 
the  way,  and  if  you  say  the  word,  you  may  be  to-morrow  on  the  road  to  the 
castle  of  enchantment.” 


COUNT  K  0  B  E  II  T  OF  PARIS. 


103 


The  Countess  heard  this  proposal  with  the  deepest  anxiety,  for  she  knew 
that  she  might,  by  opposition,  determine  her  husband  irrevocably  upon  fol¬ 
lowing  out  the  enterprise.  She  stood  therefore  with  a  timid  and  basnful 
look,  strange  in  a  person  whose  bearing  was  generally  so  dauntless,  and 
prudently  left  it  to  the  uninfluenced  mind  of  Count  Robert  to  form  the 
resolution  which  should  best  please  him. 

“  Brenhilda,”  he  said,  taking  her  hand,  “  fame  and  honour  are  dear  to 
thy  husband  as  ever  they  were  to  knight  who  buckled  a  brand  upon  his 
side.  Thou  hast  done,  perhaps,  I  may  say,  for  me,  what  I  might  in  vain 
have  looked  for  from  ladies  of  thy  condition  ;  and  therefore  thou  mayst  well 
expect  a  casting  voice  in  such  points  of  deliberation.  — Why  dost  thou 
wander  by  the  side  of  a  foreign  and  unhealthy  shore,  instead  of  the  banks 
of  the  lovely  Seine? — Why  dost  thou  wear  a  dress  unusual  to  thy  sex?  — 
Why  dost  thou  seek  death,  and  think  it  little  in  comparison  of  shame?  — 
Why?  but  that  the  Count  of  Paris  may  have  a  bride  worthy  of  him. — Dost 
thou  think  that  this  aftection  is  thrown  away  ?  No,  by  the  saints !  Thy 
knight  repays  it  as  he  best  ought,  and  sacrifices  to  thee  every  thought  which 
thy  affection  may  less  than  entirely  approve  I” 

Poor  Brenhilda,  confused  as  she  was  by  the  various  emotions  with  which 
she  was  agitated,  now  in  vain  endeavoured  to  maintain  the  heroic  deport¬ 
ment  which  her  character  as  an  Amazon  required  from  her.  She  attempted 
to  assume  the  proud  and  lofty  look  which  was  properly  her  own,  but  failing 
in  the  effort,  she  threw  herself  into  the  Count’s  arms,  hung  round  his  neck, 
and  wept  like  a  village  maiden,  whose  true  love  is  pressed  for  the  wars. 
Her  husband,  a  little  ashamed,  while  he  was  much  moved  by  this  burst  of 
affection  in  one  to  whose  character  it  seemed  an  unusual  attribute,  was,  at 
the  same  time,  pleased  and  proud  that  he  could  have  awakened  an  affection 
so  genuine  and  so  gentle  in  a  soul  so  high-spirited  and  so  unbending. 

“  Not  thus,”  he  said,  “  my  Brenhilda !  I  would  not  have  it  thus,  either 
for  thine  own  sake  or  for  mine.  Do  not  let  this  wise  old  man  suppose  that 
thy  heart  is  made  of  the  malleable  stuff*  which  forms  that  of  other  maidens ; 
and  apologize  to  him,  as  may  well  become  thee,  for  having  prevented  my 
undertaking  the  adventure  of  Zulichium,  which  he  recommends.” 

It  was  not  easy  for  Brenhilda  to  recover  herself,  after  having  afforded 
so  notable  an  instance  how  nature  can  vindicate  her  rights,  with  whatever 
rigour  she  may  have  been  disciplined  and  tyrannized  over.  With  a  look  of 
ineffable  affection,  she  disjoined  herself  from  her  husband,  still  keeping 
hold  of  his  hand,  and  turning  to  the  old  man  with  a  countenance  in  which 
the  half-effaced  tears  were  succeeded  by  smiles  of  pleasure  and  of  modesty, 
she  spoke  to  Agelastes  as  she  would  to  a  person  whom  she  respected,  and 
towards  whom  she  had  some  offence  to  atone.  “  Father,”  she  said,  respect¬ 
fully,  “  be  not  angry  with  me  that  I  should  have  been  an  obstacle  to  one  of 
the  best  knights  that  ever  spurred  steed,  undertaking  the  enterprise  of  thine 
enchanted  Princess ;  but  the  truth  is,  that  in  our  land,  where  knighthood 
and  religion  agree  in  permitting  only  one  lady  love,  and  one  lady  wife,  we 
do  not  quite  so  willingly  see  our  husbands  run  into  danger — especially  of 
that  kind  where  lonely  ladies  are  the  parties  relieved — and — and  kisses  are 
the  ransom  paid.  I  have  as  much  confidence  in  my  Robert’s  fidelity,  as  a 
lady  can  have  in  a  loving  knight,  but  still” - 

“  Lovely  lady,”  said  Agelastes,  who,  notwithstanding  his  highly  artificial 
character,  could  not  help  being  moved  by  the  simple  and  sincere  affection 
of  the  handsome  young  pair,  “  you  have  done  no  evil.  The  state  of  the 
Princess  is  no  worse  than  it  was,  and  there  cannot  be  a  doubt  that  the 
knight  fiited  to  relieve  her,  will  appear  at  the  destined  period.” 

The  Countess  smiled  sadly,  and  shook  her  head.  “  You  do  not  know,’^ 
she  said,  “  how  powerful  is  the  aid  of  which  I  have  unhappily  deprived  this 
luifortunate  lady,  by  a  jealousy  which  I  now  feel  to  have  been  alike  paltry 
and  unworthy ;  and,  such  is  my  regret,  that  I  could  find  in  my  heart  to 


104 


WAVEELEY  NOVELS. 


retract  my  opposition  to  Count  Robert’s  undertaking  this  adventure.”  She 
looked  at  her  husband  with  some  anxiety,  as  one  that  had  made  an  offer  she 
would  not  willingly  see  accepted,  and  did  not  recover  her  courage  until  he 
said,  decidedly,  “  Brenhilda,  that  may  not  be.” 

“And  why,  then,  may  not  Brenhilda  herself  take  the  adventure,”  con¬ 
tinued  the  Countess,  “  since  she  can  neither  fear  the  charms  of  the  Princess 
nor  the  terrors  of  the  dragon  ?” 

“  Lady,”  said  Agelastes,  “  the  Princess  must  be  awakened  by  the  kiss  of 
love,  and  not  by  that  of  friendship.” 

“  A  sufficient  reason,”  said  the  Countess,  smiling,  “  why  a  lady  may  not 
wish  her  lord  to  go  forth  upon  an  adventure  of  which  the  conditions  are  so 
regulated.” 

“  Noble  minstrel,  or  herald,  or  by  whatever  name  this  country  calls  you,” 
said  Count  Robert,  “  accept  a  small  remuneration  for  an  hour  pleasantly 
spent,  though  spent,  unhappily,  in  vain.  I  should  make  some  apology  for 
the  meanness  of  my  offering,  but  French  knights,  you  may  have  occasion 
to  know,  are  more  full  of  fame  than  of  wealth.” 

“  Not  for  that,  noble  sir,”  replied  Agelastes,  “  would  I  refuse  your  muni¬ 
ficence  ;  a  besant  from  your  worthy  hand,  or  that'  of  your  noble-minded 
lady,  were  centupled  in  its  value,  by  the  eminence  of  the  persons  from  whom 
it  came.  I  would  hang  it  round  my  neck  by  a  string  of  pearls,  and  when  I 
came  into  the  presence  of  knights  and  of  ladies,  I  would  proclaim  that  this 
addition  to  my  achievement  of  armorial  distinction,  was  bestowed  by  the 
renowned  Count  Robert  of  Paris,  and  his  unequalled  lady.”  The  Knight 
and  the  Countess  looked  on  each  other,  and  the  lady,  taking  from  her  finger 
a  ring  of  pure  gold,  prayed  the  old  man  to  accept  of  it,  as  a  mark  of  her 
esteem  and  her  husband’s.  “With  one  other  condition,”  said  the  philo¬ 
sopher,  “  which  I  trust  you  will  not  find  altogether  unsatisfactory.  I  have, 
on  the  way  to  the  city  by  the  most  pleasant  road,  a  small  kiosk,  or  her¬ 
mitage;  where  I  sometimes  receive  my  friends,  who,  I  venture  to  say,  are 
among  the  most  respectable  personages  of  this  empire.  Two  or  three  of 
these  will  probably  honour  my  residence  to-day,  and  partake  of  the  pro¬ 
vision  it  affords.  Could  I  add  to  these  the  company  of  the  noble  Count  and 
Countess  of  Paris,  I  should  deem  my  poor  habitation  honoured  for  ever.” 

“  IIow  say  you,  my  noble  wife?”  said  the  Count.  “The  company  of  a 
minstrel  befits  the  highest  birth,  honours  the  highest  rank,  and  adds  to  the 
greatest  achievements ;  and  the  invitation  does  us  too  much  credit  to  be 
rejected.” 

“  It  grows  somewhat  late,”  said  the  Countess :  “  but  we  came  not  here  to 
shun  a  sinking  sun  or  a  darkening  sky,  and  I  feel  it  my  duty,  as  well  as  my 
satisfaction,  to  place  at  the  command  of  the  good  father  every  pleasure 
which  it  is  in  my  power  to  offer  to  him,  for  having  been  the  means  of  your 
neglecting  his  advice.” 

“  The  path  is  so  short,”  said  Agelastes,  “  that  we  had  better  keep  our 
present  mode  of  travelling,  if  the  lady  should  not  want  the  assistance  of 
horses.” 

“No  horses  on  my  account,”  said  the  Lady  Brenhilda.  “ My  waiting- 
woman,  Agatha,  has  what  necessaries  I  may  require ;  and,  for  the  rest,  no 
knight  ever  travelled  so  little  embarrassed  with  baggage  as  my  husband.” 

Agelastes,  therefore,  led  the  way  through  the  deepening  wood,  which  was 
freshened  by  the  cooler  breath  of  evening,  and  his  guests  accompanied  him. 


« 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


105 


(Ctiaptpr  tjiB  £[nn\\). 

Without,  a  ruin,  broken,  Uingled,  cumbrous, 

Within,  it  WP5  a  little  paradise. 

Where  T.aste  had  made  her  dwelling.  Statuary, 

First-born  of  human  art,  moulded  her  images. 

And  bade  men  mark  and  worship. 

Anonymous. 

The  Count  of  Paris  and  his  lady  attended  the  old  man,  whose  advanced 
.age,  his  excellence  in  the  use  of  the  French  language,  which  he  spoke  to 
admiration,  —  above  all,  his  skill  in  applying  it  to  poetical  and  romantic 
subjects,  which  was  essential  to  what  was  then  termed  history  and  belles 
lettres, — drew  from  the  noble  hearers  a  degree  of  applause,  which,  as  Age- 
lastes  had  seldom  been  vain  enough  to  consider  as  his  due,  so,  on  the  part 
of  the  Knight  of  Paris  and  his  lady,  had  it  been  but  rarely  conferred. 

They  had  walked  for  some  time  by  a  path  which  sometimes  seemed  to 
hide  itself  among  the  woods  that  came  down  to  the  shore  of  the  Propontis, 
sometimes  emerged  from  concealment,  and  skirted  the  open  margin  of  the 
strait,  while,  at  every  turn,  it  seemed  guided  by  the  desire  to  select  a  choice 
and  contrast  of  beauty.  Variety  of  scenes  and  manners  enlivened,  from 
their  novelty,  the  landscape  to  the  pilgrims.  By  the  sea-sliore,  nymphs 
were  seen  dancing,  and  shepherds  piping,  or  beating  the  tambourine  to  their 
steps,  as  represented  in  some  groups  of  ancient  statuary.  The  very  faces 
had  a  singular  resemblance  to  the  antique.  If  old,  their  long  robes,  their 
attitudes,  and  magnificent  heads,  presented  the  ideas  which  distinguish 
prophets  and  saints ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  features  of  the  young 
recalled  the  expressive  countenances  of  the  heroes  of  antiquity,  and  the 
charms  of  those  lovely  females  by  whom  their  deeds  were  inspired. 

But  the  race  of  the  Greeks  was  no  longer  t(5  be  seen,  even  in  its  native 
country,  unmixed,  or  in  absolute  purity ;  on  the  contrary,  they  saw  groups 
of  persons  wdth  features  which  argued  a  diflferent  descent. 

In  a  retiring  bosom  of  the  shore,  which  was  traversed  by  the  path,  the 
rocks,  receding  from  the  beach,  rounded  off  a  spacious  portion  of  level  sand, 
and,  in  some  degree,  enclosed  it.  A  party  of  heathen  Scythians  whom  they 
beheld,  presented  the  deformed  features  of  the  demons  they  were  said  to 
worship  —  flat  noses  with  expanded  nostrils,  which  seemed  to  admit  the 
sight  to  their  very  brain ;  faces  which  extended  rather  in  breadth  tlian 
length,  with  strange  unintellectual  eyes  placed  in  the  extremity ;  figures 
short  and  dwarfish,  yet  garnished  with  legs  and  arms  of  astonishing  sinewy 
strength,  disproportioned  to  their  bodies.  As  the  travellers  passed,  the 
savages  held  a  species  of  tournament,  as  the  Count  termed  it.  In  this  they 
exercised  themselves  by  d.arting  at  each  other  long  reeds,  or  canes,  balanced 
for  the  purpose,  which,  in  this  rude  sport,  they  threw  with  such  force,  as 
not  unfrequently  to  strike  each  other  from  their  steeds,  and  otherwise  to 
cause  serious  dam.age.  Some  of  the  combatants  being,  for  the  time,  out  of 
the  play,  devoured  with  greedy  looks  the  beauty  of  the  Countess,  and  eyed 
her  in  such  a  manner,  that  she  said  to  Count  Robert, — “I  have  never  known 
fear,  my  husband,  nor  is  it  for  me  to  acknowledge  it  now ;  but  if  disgust  be 
an  ingredient  of  it,  these  misformed  brutes  are  qu.alified  to  inspire  it.'^ 

“What,  ho.  Sir  Knight!'^  exclaimed  one  of  the  infidels,  “your  wife,  or 
your  lady  love,  has  committed  a  fault  against  the  privileges  of  the  Imperial 
Scythians,  and  not  small  will  be  the  penalty  she  has  incurred.  You  may 
go  your  way  as  fast  as  you  will  out  of  this  place,  which  is,  for  the  present, 
our  hippodrome,  or  atmeidan,  call  it  which  you  will,  as  you  prize  the 
Roman  or  the  Saracen  language;  but  for  your  wife,  if  the  sacrament  has 
united  you,  believe  my  word,  that  she  parts  not  so  soon  or  so  easy.^^ 


100 


W  A  V  E  11  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 


“  Scoundrel  heathen/'  saitf  the  Christian  Knight,  “  dost  thou  hold  that 
language  to  a  Peer  of  France  ?" 

Agolastes  here  interposed,  and  using  the  sounding  language  of  a  Grecian 
courtier,  reminded  the  Scythians,  (mercenary  soldiers,  as  they  seemed,  of 
the  empire,)  that  all  violence  against  the  European  pilgrims  was,  by  the 
Imperial  orders,  strictly  prohibited  under  pain  of  death. 

“  I  know  better,"  said  the  exulting  savage,  shaking  one  or  two  javelins 
with  broad  steel  heads,  and  wings  of  the  eagle’s  feather,  which  last  were 
dabbled  in  blood.  “  Ask  the  wings  of  my  javelin,"  he  said,  “  in  whose 
heart’s  blood  these  feathers  have  been  dyed.  They  shall  reply  to  you,  that 
if  Alexius  Comnenus  be  the  friend  of  the  European  pilgrims,  it  is  only 
while  he  looks  upon  them  ;  and  we  are  too  exemplary  soldiers  to  serve  our 
Emperor  otherwise  than  he  wishes  to  be  served."  ' 

"  Peace,  Toxartis,"  said  the  philosopher,  “thou  beliest  thine  Emperor." 

“  Peace  thou !’’  said  Toxartis,  “  or  I  will  do  a  deed  that  misbecomes  a 
soldier,  and  rid  the  world  of  a  prating  old  man." 

So  saying,  he  put  forth  his  hand  to  take  hold  of  the  Countess’s  veil. 
With  the  readiness  which  frequent  use  had  given  to  the  warlike  lady,  she 
withdrew  herself  from  the  heathen’s  grasp,  and  with  her  trenchant  sword 
dealt  him  so  sufficient  a  blow,  that  Toxartis  lay  lifeless  on  the  plain.  The 
Count  leapt  on  the  fallen  leader’s  steed,  and  crying  his  war-cry,  “  Son  of 
Charlemagne,  to  the  rescue  I"  he  rode  amid  the  rout  of  heathen  cavaliers 
with  a  battlQ-axe,  which  he  found  at  the  saddlebow  of  the  deceased  chief¬ 
tain,  and  wielding  it  with  remorseless  dexterity,  he  soon  slew  or  wounded, 
or  compelled  to  flight,  the  objects  of  his  resentment ;  nor  was  there  any  of 
them  who  abode  an  instant  to  support  the  boast  which  they  had  made. 

“  The  despicable  churls  !’’  said  the  Countess  to  Agelastes ;  “  it  irks  me 
that  a  drop  of  such  coward  blood  should  stain  the  hands  of  a  noble  knight. 
They  call  their  exercise  a  tournament,  although  in  their  whole  exertions 
every  blow  is  aimed  behind  the  back,  and  not  one  has  the  courage  to  throw 
his  windlestraw  while  he  perceives  that  of  another  pointed  against  himself." 

“  Such  is  their  custom,"  said  Agelastes  ;  “  not  perhaps  so  much  from 
cowardice  as  from  habit,  in  exercising  before  his  Imperial  Majesty.  I  have 
seqn  that  Toxartis  literally  turn  his  back  upon  the  mark  when  he  bent  his 
bow  in  full  career,  and  when  in  the  act  of  galloping  the  farthest  from  his 
object,  he  pierced  it  through  the  very  centre  with  a  broad  arrow." 

“  A  force  of  such  soldiers,"  said  Count  Robert,  who  had  now  rejoined 
his  friends,  “  could  not,  methinks,  be  very  formidable,  where  there  was  but 
an  ounce  of  genuine  courage  in  the  assailants." 

“  Mean  time,  let  us  pass  on  to  my  kiosk,"  said  Agelastes,  “  lest  the 
fugitives  And  friends  to  encourage  them  in  thoughts  of  revenge." 

“  Such  friends,"  said  Count  Robert,  “  methinks  the  insolent  heathens 
ought  not  to  find  in  any  land  which  calls  itself  Christian  ;  and  if  I  survive 
the  conquest  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  I  shall  make  it  my  first  business  to 
enquire  by  what  right  your  Emperor  retains  in  his  service  a  band  of  Paynim 
and  unmannerly  cut-throats,  who  dare  offer  injury  upon  the  highway, 
which  ought  to  be  sacred  to  the  peace  of  God  and  the  king,  and  to  noble 
ladies  and  inoffensive  pilgrims.  It  is  one  of  a  list  of  many  questions 
which,  my  vow  accomplished,  I  will  not  fail  to  put  to  him ;  ay,  and  expect¬ 
ing  an  answer,  as  they  say,  prompt  and  categorical." 

“  You  shall  gain  no  answer  from  me  though,"  said  Agelastes  to  himself. 

“  Your  demands.  Sir  Knight,  are  over-peremptory,  and  imposed  under  too 
rigid  conditions,  to  be  replied  to  by  those  who  can  evade  them." 

lie  changed  the  conversation,  accordingly,  with  easy  dexterit}’’ ;  and  they 
had  not  proceeded  much  farther,  before  they  reached  a  spot,  the  natural 
beauties  of  which  called  forth  the  admiration  of  his  foreign  companions. 
A  copious  brook,  gushing  out  of  the  woodland,  descended  to  the  sea  with 
no  small  noise  and  tumult ;  and,  as  if  disdaining  a  quieter  course,  which  it 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  1'  A  R  I  S  . 


107 


might  have  gained  by  a  little  circuit  to  the  right,  it  took  the  readiest  road 
to  the  ocean,  plunging  over  the  face  of  a  lofty  and  barren  precipice  which 
overhung  the  sea-shore,  and  from  thence  led  its  little  tribute,  with  as  much 
noise  as  if  it  had  the  stream  of  a  full  river  to  boast  of,  to  the  waters  of  the 
Hellespont. 

The  rock,  we  have  said,  was  bare,  unless  in  so  far  as  it  was  clothed  with 
the  foaming  w’aters  of  the  cataract ;  but  the  banks  on  each  side  were  covered 
with  plane-trees,  walnut-trees,  cypresses,  and  other  kinds  of  large  timber 
proper  to  the  East.  The  fall  of  water,  always  agreeable  in  a  warm  climate, 
and  generally  produced  by  artificial  means,  was  here  natural,  and  had  been 
chosen,  something  like  the  SibyUs  temple  at  Tivoli,  for  the  seat  of  a  god¬ 
dess  to  whom  the  invention  of  Polytheism  had  assigned  a  sovereignty  over 
the  department  around.  The  shrine  was  small  and  circular,  like  many  of 
the  lesser  temples  of  the  rustic  deities,  and  enclosed  by  the  wall  of  an  outer 
court.  After  its  desecration,  it  had  probably  been  converted  into  a  luxurious 
summer  retreat  by  Agelastes,  or  some  Epicurean  philosopher.  As  the 
building,  itself  of  a  light,  airy,  and  fantastic  character,  was  dimly  seen 
through  the  branches  and  foliage  on  the  edge  of  the  rock,  so  the  mode  by 
which  it  was  accessible  was  not  at  first  apparent  amongst  the  mist  of  the 
cascade.  A  pathway,  a  good  deal  hidden  by  vegetation,  ascended  by  a 
gentle  acclivity,  and  prolonged  by  the  architect  by  means  of  a  few  broad 
and  easy  marble  steps,  making  part  of  the  original  approach,  conducted 
the  passenger  to  a  small,  but  exquisitely  lovely  velvet  lawn,  in  front  of  the 
turret  or  temple  we  have  described,  the  back  part  of  which  building  over¬ 
hung  the  cataract. 


Cjjnpttr  tljt  (Emtlftji. 

The  parties  met.  The  wily,  wordy  Greek, 

Weighing  each  word,  and  canvassing  each  syllable ; 

Evading,  arguing,  equivocating. 

And  the  stem  Frank  came  with  his  two-hand  sword, 

Watching  to  see  which  way  the  balance  sways, 

'I’hat  he  may  throw  it  in,  and  turn  the  scales. 

Palestine. 

At  a  signal  made  by  xVgelastes,  the  door  of  this  romantic  retreat  was 
opened  by  Diogenes,  the  negro  slave,  to  whom  our  readers  have  been  already 
introduced ;  nor  did  it  escape  the  wily  old  man,  that  the  Count  and  his  lady 
testified  some  wonder  at  his  form  and  lineaments,  being  the  first  African 
perhaps  whom  they  had  ever  seen  so  closely.  The  philosopher  lost  not  the 
opportunity  of  making  an  impression  on  their  minds,  by  a  display  of  the 
superiority  of  his  knowledge. 

“  This  poor  being,''  he  observed,  “  is  of  the  race  of  Ham,  the  undutiful 
son  of  Noah ;  for  his  transgressions  against  his  parent,  he  was  banished  to 
the  sands  of  Africa,  and  was  condemned  to  be  the  father  of  a  race  doomed 
to  be  the  slaves  of  the  issue  of  his  more  dutiful  brethren." 

The  knight  and  his  lady  gazed  on  the  wonderful  appearance  before  them, 
and  did  not,  it  may  be  believed,  think  of  doubting  the  information  which 
was  so  much  of  a  piece  with  their  prejudices,  while  their  opinion  of  their 
host  w.as  greatly  augmented  by  the  supposed  extent  of  his  knowledge. 

“It  gives  pleasure  to  a  man  of  humanity,"  continued  Agelastes,  “when, 
in  old  age,  or  sickness,  we  must  employ  the  services  of  others,  which  is  at 
other  times  scarce  lawful,  to  choose  his  assistants  out  of  a  race  of  beings, 


108 


W  A  V  R  K  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 


hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of  water — from  their  birth  upwards  destined  to 
slavery ;  and  to  whom,  therefore,  by  employing  them  as  slaves,  we  render 
no  injury,  but  carry  into  elFect,  in  a  slight  degree,  the  intentions  of  the 
Great  Being  who  made  us  all.’^ 

“  Are  there  many  of  a  race,’’  said  the  Countess,  “so  singularly  unhappy 
in  their  destination  ?  I  have  hitherto  thought  the  stories  of  black  men  as 
idle  as  those  which  minstrels  tell  of  fairies  and  ghosts.” 

“  Do  not  believe  so,”  said  the  philosopher ;  “  the  race  is  numerous  as  the 
sands  of  the  sea,  neither  are  they  altogether  unhappy  in  discharging  the 
duties  which  their  fate  has  allotted  them.  Those  who  are  of  worse  character 
suffer  even  in  this  life  the  penance  due  to  their  guilt ;  they  become  the  slaves 
of  the  cruel  and  tyrannical,  are  beaten,  starved,  and  mutilated.  To  those 
whose  moral  characters  are  better,  better  masters  are  provided,  who  share 
with  their  slaves,  as  with  their  children,  food  and  raiment,  and  the  other 
good  things  which  they  themselves  enjoy.  To  some,  Heaven  allots  the 
favour  of  kings  and  of  conquerors,  and  to  a  few,  but  those  the  chief  favourites 
of  the  species,  hath  been  assigned  a  place  in  the  mansions  of  philosophy, 
where,  by  availing  themselves  of  the  lights  which  their  masters  can  afford, 
they  gain  a  prospect  into  that  world  which  is  the  residence  of  true  hap¬ 
piness.” 

“  Methinks  I  understand  you,”  replied  the  Countess,  “  and  if  so,  I  ought 
rather  to  envy  our  sable  friend  here  than  to  pity  him,  for  having  been 
allotted  in  the  partition  of  his  kind  to  the  possession  of  his  present  master, 
from  whom,  doubtless,  he  has  acquired  the  desirable  knowledge  which  j^ou 
mention.” 

“  He  learns,  at  least,”  said  Agelastes,  modestly,  “what  I  can  teach,  and, 
above  all,  to  be  contented  with  his  situation.  —  Diogenes,  my  good  child,” 
said  he,  changing  his  address  to  the  slave,  “thou  seest  I  have  company  — 
What  does  the  poor  hermit’s  larder  afford,  with  which  he  may  regale  his 
honoured  guests?” 

Hitherto  they  had  advanced  no  farther  than  a  sort  of  outer  room,  or  hall 
of  entrance,  fitted  up  with  no  more  expense  than  might  have  suited  one  who 
desired  at  some  outlay,  and  more  taste,  to  avail  himself  of  the  ancient 
building  for  a  sequestered  and  private  retirement.  The  chairs  and  couches 
were  covered  with  Eastern  wove  mats,  and  were  of  the  simplest  and  most 
primitive  form.  But  on  touching  a  spring,  an  interior  apartment  was  dis¬ 
played,  which  had  considerable  pretension  to  splendour  and  magnificence. 

The  furniture  and  hangings  of  this  apartment  were  of  straw-coloured  silk, 
wrought  on  the  looms  of  Persia,  and  crossed  with  embroidery,  which  pro¬ 
duced  a  rich,  yet  simple  effect.  The  ceiling  was  carved  in  Arabesque,  and 
the  four  corners  of  the  apartment  were  formed  into  recesses  for  statuary, 
which  had  been  produced  in  a  better  age  of  the  art  than  that  which  existed 
at  the  period  of  our  story.  In  one  nook,  a  shepherd  seemed  to  withdraw 
himself,  as  if  ashamed  to  produce  his  scantily-covered  person,  while  he  was 
willing  to  afford  the  audience  the  music  of  the  reed  which  he  held  in  his 
hand.  Three  damsels,  resembling  the  Graces  in  the  beautiful  proportions 
of  their  limbs,  and  the  slender  clothing  which  they  wore,  lurked  in  different 
attitudes,  each  in  her  own  niche,  and  seemed  but  to  await  the  first  sound 
of  the  music,  to  bound  forth  from  thence  and  join  in  the  frolic  dance.  The 
subject  was  beautiful,  yet  somewhat  light,  to  ornament  the  study  of  such  a 
sage  as  Agelastes  represented  himself  to  be. 

He  seemed  to  be  sensible  that  this  might  attract  observation.  —  “These 
figures,”  he  said,  “  executed  at  the  period  of  the  highest  excellence  of 
Grecian  art,  were  considered  of  old  as  the  choral  nymphs  assembled  to 
adore  the  goddess  of  the  plKce,  waiting  but  the  music  to  join  in  the  worship 
of  the  temple.  And,  in  truth,  the  wisest  may  be  interested  in  seeing  how 
near  to  animation  the  genius  of  these  wonderful  men  could  bring  the 
inflexible  marble.  Allow  but  for  the  absence  of  the  divine  afflatus,  or  breath 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARTS. 


109 


of  animation,  and  an  unenlightened  heathen  might  suppose  the  miracle  of 
Prometheus  was  about  to  be  realized.  But  we,’'  said  he,  looking  upwards, 
“are  taught  to  form  a  better  judgment  between  what  man  can  do  and  the 
productions  of  the  Deity.” 

Some  subjects  of  natural  history  were  painted  on  the  walls,  and  the  phi¬ 
losopher  fixe<l  the  attention  of  his  guests  upon  the  half-reasoning  elephant, 
of  which  he  mentioned  several  anecdotes,  which  they  listened  to  with  great 
eagerness. 

A  distant  strain  was  here  heard,  as  if  of  music  in  the  woods,  penetrating 
by  tits  through  the  hoarse  roar  of  the  cascade,  which,  as  it  sunk  imme¬ 
diately  below  the  windows,  filled  the  apartment  with  its  deep  voice. 

“  Apparently,”  said  Agelastcs,  “  the  friends  whom  I  expected  are  ap- 

f reaching,  and  bring  with  them  the  means  of  enchanting  another  sense. 

t  is  well  they  do  so,  since  wisdom  tells  us  that  we  best  honour  the  Deity 
by  enjoying  the  gifts  he  has  provided  us.” 

These  words  called  the  attention  of  the  philosopher’s  Frankish  guests  to 
the  preparations  exhibited  in  this  tasteful  saloon.  These  were  made  for  an 
entertainment  in  the  manner  of  the  ancient  Romans,  and  couches,  which 
were  laid  beside  a  table  ready  decked,  announced  that  the  male  guests,  at 
least,  were  to  assist  at  the  banquet  in  the  usual  recumbent  posture  of  the 
ancients ;  while  seats,  placed  among  the  couches,  seemed  to  say  that  females 
were  expected,  who  would  observe  the  Grecian  customs,  in  eating  seated. 
The  preparations  for  good  cheer  were  such  as,  though  limited  in  extent, 
could  scarce  be  excelled  in  quality,  either  by  the  splendid  dishes  which 
decked  Trimalchio’s  banquet  of  former  days,  or  the  lighter  delicacies  of 
Grecian  cookery,  or  the  succulent  and  highly-spiced  messes  indulged  in  by 
the  nations  of  the  East,  to  whichever  they  happened  to  give  the  preference  ; 
and  it  was  with  an  air  of  some  vanity  that  Agelastes  asked  his  guests  to 
share  a  poor  pilgrim’s  meal. 

“We  care  little  for  dainties,”  said  the  Count;  “nor  does  our  present 
course  of  life  as  pilgrims,  bound*  by  a  vow,  allow  us  much  choice  on  such 
subjects.  Whatever  is  food  for  soldiers,  suffices  the  Countess  and  myself; 
for,  with  our  will,  we  would  at  every  hour  be  ready  for  battle,  and  the  less 
time  we  use  in  preparing  for  the  field,  it  is  even  so  much  the  better.  Sit 
then,  Brenhilda,  since  the  good  man  will  have  it  so,  and  let  us  lose  no  time 
in  refreshment,  lest  we  waste  that  which  should  be  otherwise  employed.” 

“  A  moment’s  forgiveness,”  said  Agelastes,  “  until  the  amval  of  my  other 
friends,  whose  music  you  may  now  hear  is  close  at  hand,  and  who  will  not 
long,  I  may  safely  promise,  divide  you  from  your  meal.” 

“For  that,”  said  the  Count,  “there  is  no  haste;  and  since  you  scorn  to 
account  it  a  part  of  civil  manners,  Brenhilda  and  I  can  with  ease  postpone 
our  repast,  unless  you  will  permit  us,  what  I  own  would  be  more  pleasing, 
to  take  a  morsel  of  bread  and  a  cup  of  water  presently;  and,  thus  refreshed, 
to  leave  the  space  clear  for  your  more  curious  and  more  familiar  guests.” 

“  The  saints  above  forbid  !”  said  Agelastes  ;  “  guests  so  honoured  never 
before  pressed  these  cushions,  nor  could  do  so,  if  the  sacred  family  of  the 
imperial  Alexius  himseif  even  now  stood  at  the  gate.” 

lie  had  hardly  uttered  these  words,  when  the  full-blown  peal  of  a  trumpet, 
louder  in  a  tenfold  degree  than  the  strains  of  music  they  had  before  heard, 
was  now  sounded  in  the  front  of  the  temple,  piercing  through  the  murmur 
of  the  waterfall,  as  a  Damascus  blade  penetrates  the  armour,  and  assailing 
the  ears  of  the  hearers,  as  the  sword  pierces  the  flesh  of  him  who  wears  the 
harness. 

“  You  seem  surprised  or  alarmed,  father,”  said  Count  Robert.  “  Is  there 
danger  near,  and  do  you  distrust  our  protection  ?” 

“No,”  said  Agelastes,  “that  would  give  me  confidence  in  any  extremity; 
but  these  sounds  excite  awe,  not  fear.  They  tell  me  that  some  of  the  Im  pe- 
rial  family  are  about  to  be  my  guests.  Yet  fear  nothing,  my  noble  friends 

K 


110 


W  A  V  E  K  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 


—  they,  whose  look  is  life,  are  ready  to  shower  their  favours  with  profusion 
upon  strangers  so  worthy  of  honour  as  they  will  see  here.  Meantime,  my 
brow  must  touch  my  threshold,  in  order  duly  to  welcome  them.^^  So  saying, 
he  hurried  to  the  outer  door  of  the  building. 

“  Each  land  has  its  customs,’^  said  the  Count,  as  he  followed  his  host, 
with  his  wife  hanging  on  his^arm  ;  “  but,  Brenhilda,  as  they  are  so  various, 
it  is  little  wonder  that  they  appear  unseemly  to  each  other.  Here,  however, 
in  deference  to  my  entertainer,  I  stoop  my  crest,  in  the  manner  which 
seems  to  be  required.’’  So  saying,  he  followed  Agelastes  into  the  anteroom, 
where  a  new  scene  awaited  them. 


(CtinptEr  tjjE  (£|)iitEBiitji. 

Agelastes  gained  his  threshold  before  Count  Robert  of  Paris  and  his 
lady.  He  had,  therefore,  time  to  make  his  prostrations  before  a  huge 
animal,  then  unknown  to  the  western  world,  but  now  universally  distin¬ 
guished  as  the  elephant.  On  its  back  was  a  pavilion  or  palanquin,  within 
which  were  enclosed  the  august  persons  of  the  Empress  Irene,  and  her 
daughter  Anna  Comnena.  Nicephorus  Briennius  attended  the  Princesses 
in  the  command  of  a  gallant  body  of  light  horse,  whose  splendid  armour 
would  have  given  more  pleasure  to  the  crusader,  if  it  had  possessed  less  an 
air  of  useless  wealth  and  effeminate  magnificence.  But  the  effect  which  it 
produced  in  its  appearance  was  as  brilliant  as  could  well  be  conceived. 
The  officers  alone  of  this  corps  de  garde  followed  Nicephorus  to  the  plat¬ 
form,  prostrated  themselves  while  the  ladies  of  the  Imperial  house  descended, 
and  rose  up  again  under  a  cloud  of  waving  plumes  and  flashing  lances, 
when  they  stood  secure  upon  the  platform  in  front  of  the  building.  Here 
the  somewhat  aged,  but  commanding  form  of  the  Empress,  and  the  still 
juvenile  beauties  of  the  fair  historian,  were  seen  to  great  advantage.  In 
the  front  of  a  deep  back-ground  of  spears  and  waving  crests,  stood  the 
sounder  of  the  sacred  trumpet,  conspicuous  by  his  size  and  the  richness 
of  his  apparel ;  he  kept  his  post  on  a  rock  above  the  stone  staircase,  and, 
by  an  occasional  note  of  his  instrument,  intimated  to  the  squadrons  beneath 
that  they  should  stay  their  progress,  and  attend  the  motions  of  the  Empress 
and  the  wife  of  the  Caesar. 

The  fair  form  of  the  Countess  Brenhilda,  and  the  fantastic  appearance  of 
her  half  masculine  garb,  attracted  the  attention  of  the  ladies  of  Alexius’ 
family,  but  was  too  extraordinary  to  command  their  admiration.  Agelastes 
became  sensible  there  was  a  necessity  that  he  should  introduce  his  guests 
to  each  other,  if  he  desired  they  should  meet  on  satisfactory  terms.  “  May 
I  speak,”  he  said,  “and  live?  The  armed  strangers  whom  you  find  now 
with  me  are  worthy  companions  of  those  myriads,  whom  zeal  for  the  suf¬ 
fering  inhabitants  of  Palestine  has  brought  from  the  western  extremity  of 
Europe,  at  once  to  enjoy  the  countenance  of  Alexius  Comnenus,  and  to  aid 
him,  since  it  pleases  him  to  accept  their  assistance,  in  expelling  the  Pay- 
nims  from  the  bounds  of  the  sacred  empire,  and  garrison  those  regions  in 
their  stead,  as  vassals  of  his  Imperial  Majesty.” 

“  We  are  pleased,”  said  t|ie  Empress,  “  worthy  Agelastes,  that  you  should 
be  kind  to  those  who  are  disposed  to  be  so  reverent  to  the  Emperor.  And 
we  are  rather  disposed  to  talk  with  them  ourselves,  that  our  daughter  (whom 
Apollo  hath  gifted  with  the  choice  talent  of  recording  what  she  sees)  may 
bocoino  acquainted  with  one  of  those  female  warriors  of  the  West,  of  whom 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


Ill 


wc  have  heard  so  much  by  common  fame,  and  yet  know  so  little  with  cer¬ 
tainty.'' 

“  Madam,"  said  the  Count,  “  I  can  but  rudely  express  to  you  what  I  have 
to  find  fault  with  in  the  explanation  which  this  old  man  hath  given  of  our 
purpose  in  coming  hither.  Certain  it  is,  we  neither  owe  Alexius  fealty,  nor 
nad  we  the  purpose  of  paying  him  any,  when  we  took  the  vow  upon  our¬ 
selves  which  brought  us  against  Asia.  We  came,  because  we  understood 
that  the  Holy  Land  had  been  torn  from  the  Greek  Emperor  by  the  Pagans, 
Saracens,  Turks,  and  other  infidels,  from  -whom  we  are  come  to  win  it  back. 
The  wisest  and  most  prudent  among  us  have  judged  it  necessary  to  acknow¬ 
ledge  tlie  Emperor’s  authority,  since  there  was  no  such  safe  w'ay  of  passing 
to  the  discharge  of  our  vow,  as  that  of  acknowledging  fealty  to  him,  as  the 
best  mode  of  preventing  quarrels  among  Ciiristian  States.  We,  though  in¬ 
dependent  of  any  earthly  king,  do  not  pretend  to  be  greater  men  than  they, 
and  therefore  have  condescended  to  pay  the  same  homage." 

The  Empress  coloured  several  times  with  indignation  in  the  course  of  this 
speech,  which,  in  more  passages  than  one,  was  at  variance  with  those  impe¬ 
rial  maxims  of  the  Grecian  court,  which  held  its  dignity  so  high,  and  plainly 
intimated  a  tone  of  opinion  which  was  depreciating  to  the  Emperor’s  power. 
But  the  Empress  Irene  had  received  instructions  from  her  imperial  spouse 
to  beware  how  she  gave,  or  oven  took,  any  ground  of  quarrel  with  the  cru¬ 
saders,  who,  though  coming  in  the  appearance  of  subjects,  were,  neverthe¬ 
less,  too  punctilious  and  ready  to  take  fire,  to  render  them  safe  discussers 
of  delicate  difierences.  She  made  a  graceful  reverence  accordingly,  as  if 
she  had  scarce  understood  what  the  Count  of  Paris  had  explained  so  bluntly. 

At  this  moment  the  appearance  of  the  principal  persons  on  either  hand 
attracted,  in  a  wonderful  degree,  the  attention  of  the  other  party,  and  there 
seemed  to  exist  among  them  a  general  desire  of  further  acquaintance,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  a  manifest  difficulty  in  expressing  such  a  wish. 

Agelastes  —  to  begin  with  the  master  of  the  house  —  had  risen  from  the 
ground  indeed,  but  without  venturing  to  assume  an  upright  posture ;  he 
remained  before  the  Imperial  ladies  with  his  body  and  head  still  bent,  his 
hand  interposed  between  his  eyes  and  their  faces,  like  a  man  that  would 
shade  his  eyesight  from  the  level  sun,  and  awaited  in  silence  the  commands 
of  those  to  whom  he  seemed  to  think  it  disrespectful  to  propose  the  slightest 
action,  save  by  testifying  in  general,  that  his  house  and  his  slaves  were  at 
their  unlimited  command.  The  Countess  of  Paris,  on  the  other  hand,  and 
her  warlike  husband,  were  the  peculiar  objects  of  curiosity  to  Irene,  and 
her  accomplished  daughter,  Anna  Comnena ;  and  it  occurred  to  both  these 
Imperial  ladies,  that  they  had  never  seen  finer  specimens  of  human  strength 
and  beauty  ;  but  by  a  natural  instinct,  they  preferred  the  manly  bearing  of 
the  husband  to  that  of  the  wife,  which  seemed  to  her  own  sex  rather  too 
haughty  and  too  masculine  to  be  altogether  pleasing. 

Count  Robert  and  his  lady  had  also  their  own  object  of  attention  in  the 
newly  arrived  group,  and,  to  speak  truth,  it  was  nothing  else  than  the  pecu¬ 
liarities  of  the  monstrous  animal  which  they  now  saw,  for  the  first  time, 
employed  as  a  beast  of  burden  in  the  service  of  the  fair  Irene  and  her 
daughter.  The  dignity  and  splendour  of  the  elder  Princess,  the  grace  and 
vivacity  of  the  younger,  were  alike  lost  in  Brenhilda’s  earnest  inquiries  into 
the  history  of  the  elephant,  and  the  use  which  it  made  of  its  trunk,  tusks, 
and  huge  ears,  upon  difiereut  occasions. 

Another  person,  who  took  a  less  direct  opportunity  to  gaze  on  Brenhilda 
with  a  deep  degree  of  interest,  was  the  Caesar,  Nicephorus.  This  Prince 
kept  his  eye  as  steadily  upon  the  Frankish  Countess  as  he  could  well  do, 
without  attracting  the  attention,  and  exciting  perhaps  the  suspicions,  of  his 
wife  and  mother-in-law ;  he  therefore  endeavoured  to  restore  speech  to  an 
interview  which  would  have  been  awkward  without  it.  “  It  is  possible," 
be  said,  “  beautiful  Countess,  that  this  being  your  first  visit  to  the  Queen  of 


112 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


the  world,  you  have  never  hitherto  seen  the  singularly  curious  animal  called 
the  elephant/^ 

“  Pardon  me,’^  said  the  Countess,  “  I  have  been  treated  by  this  learned 
gentleman  to  a  sight,  and  some  account  of  that  wonderful  creature/^ 

By  all  who  heard  this  observation,  the  Lady  Brenhilda  was  supposed  to 
have  made  a  satirical  thrust  at  the  philosopher  himself,  who,  in  the  imperial 
court,  usually  went  by  the  name  of  the  elephant. 

“  No  one  could  describe  the  beast  more  accurately  than  Agelastes,^^  said 
the  Princess,  with  a  smile  of  intelligence,  which  went  round  her  attendants. 

“  lie  knows  its  docility,  its  sensibility,  and  its  fidelity,’^  said  the  philo¬ 
sopher,  in  a  subdued  tone. 

“  True,  good  Agelastes,^'  said  the  Princess  ;  “  we  should  not  criticise  the 
animal  which  kneels  to  take  us  up.  —  Come,  lady  of  a  foreign  land,’^  she 
continued,  turning  to  the  Frank  Count,  and  especially  his  Countess — “  and 
you  her  gallant  lord !  When  you  return  to  your  native  country,  you  shall 
say  you  have  seen  the  imperial  family  partake  of  their  food,  and  in  so  far 
acknowledge  themselves  to  be  of  the  same  clay  with  other  mortals,  sharing 
their  poorest  wants,  and  relieving  them  in  the  same  manner.^^ 

“  That,  gentle  lady,  I  can  well  believe,^’  said  Count  Bobert;  “  my  curiosity 
would  be  more  indulged  by  seeing  this  strange  animal  at  his  food.^^ 

“  You  will  see  the  elephant  more  conveniently  at  his  mess  within  doors,'' 
answered  the  Princess,  looking  at  Agelastes. 

“  Lady,"  said  Brenhilda,  “  I  would  not  willingly  refuse  an  invitation  given 
in  courtesy,  but  the  sun  has  M’^axed  low  unnoticed,  and  we  must  return  to 
the  city." 

“Be  not  afraid,"  said  the  fair  historian  ;  “you  shall  have  the  advantage 
of  our  Imperial  escort  to  protect  you  in  your  return." 

“Fear?  —  afraid?  —  escort?  —  protect?  —  These  are  words  I  know  not. 
Know,  lady,  that  my  husband,  the  noble  Count  of  Paris,  is  my  sufficient 
escort ;  and  even  were  he  not  with  me,  Brenhilda  de  Aspramonte  fears 
nothing,  and  can  defend  herself." 

“  Fair  daughter,"  said  Agelastes,  “  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  speak,  you 
mistake  the  gracious  intentions  of  the  Princess,  who  expresses  herself  as  to 
a  lady  of  her  own  land.  What  she  desires  is  to  learn  from  you  some  of  the 
most  marked  habits  and  manners  of  the  Franks,  of  which  you  are  so  beau¬ 
tiful  an  example  ;  and  in  return  for  such  information  the  illustrious  Princess 
would  be  glad  to  procure  your  entrance  to  those  spacious  collections,  where 
animals  from  all  corners  of  the  habitable  world  have  been  assembled  at  the 
command  of  our  Emperor  Alexius,  as  if  to  satisfy  the  wisdom  of  those 
sages  to  whom  all  creation  is  known,  from  the  deer  so  small  in  size  that  it 
is  exceeded  by  an  ordinary  rat,  to  that  huge  and  singular  inhabitant  of 
Africa  that  can  browse  on  the  tops  of  trees  that  are  forty  feet  high,  while 
the  length  of  its  hind-legs  does  not  exceed  the  half  of  that  wondrous  height." 

“  It  is  enough,"  said  the  Countess,  with  some  eagerness ;  but  Agelastes 
had  got  a  point  of  discussion  after  his  own  mind. 

“  There  is  also,"  he  said,  “  that  huge  lizard,  which,  resembling  in  shape 
the  harmless  inhabitant  of  the  moors  of  other  countries,  is  in  Egypt  a  mon¬ 
ster  thirty  feet  in  length,  clothed  in  impenetrable  scales,  and  moaning  over 
his  prey  when  he  catches  it,  with  the  hope  and  purpose  of  drawing  others 
within  his  danger,  by  mimicking  the  lamentations  of  humanity." 

“  Say  no  more,  father !"  exclaimed  the  lady.  “  My  Robert,  we  will  go — 
will  we  not,  where  such  objects  are  to  be  seen  ?" 

“  There  is  also,"  said  Agelastes,  who  saw  that  he  would  gain  his  point 
by  addressing  himself  to  the  curiosity  of  the  strangers,  “  the  huge  animal, 
wearing  on  its  back  an  invulnerable  vestment,  having  on  its  nose  a  horn, 
and  sometimes  two,  the  folds  of  whose  hide  are  of  the  most  immense  thick¬ 
ness,  and  which  never  knight  was  able  to  wound." 

“We  will  go,  Robert  —  will  we  not?"  reiterated  the  Countess. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


113 


“  Ay,”  replied  the  Count,  “  and  teach  these  Easterns  how  to  judge  of  a 
knight’s  sword,  by  a  single  blow  of  my  trusty  Tranchefer.” 

“  And  who  knows,”  said  Brenhilda,  “since  this  is  a  land  of  enchantment, 
but  what  some  person,  who  is  languishing  in  a  foreign  shape,  may  have 
their  enchantment  unexpectedly  dissolved  by  a  stroke  of  the  good  weapon  ?” 

“Say  no  more,  father!”  exclaimed  the  Count.  “We  will  attend  this 
Princess,  since  such  she  is,  were  her  whole  escort  bent  to  oppose  our  pas¬ 
sage,  instead  of  being  by  her  command  to  be  our  guard.  For  know,  all 
who  hear  me,  thus  much  of  the  nature  of  the  Franks,  that  when  you  tell 
us  of  danger  and  difficulties,  you  give  us  the  same  desire  to  travel  the  road 
where  they  lie,  as  other  men  have  in  seeking  either  pleasure  or  profit  in 
the  paths  in  which  such  are  to  be  found.” 

As  the  Count  pronounced  these  words,  he  struck  his  hand  upon  his  Tran¬ 
chefer,  as  an  illustration  of  the  manner  in  which  he  purposed  upon  occa¬ 
sion  to  make  good  his  way.  The  courtly  circle  startled  somewhat  at  the 
clash  of  steel,  and  the  fiery  look  of  the  chivalrous  Count  Robert.  The 
Empress  indulged  her  alarm  by  retreating  into  the  inner  apartment  of  the 
pavilion. 

With  a  grace,  which  was  rarely  deigned  to  any  but  those  in  close  alliance 
with  the  Imperial  family,  Anna  Comnena  took  the  arm  of  the  noble  Count. 
“I  see,”  she  said,  “that  the  Imperial  Mother  has  honoured  the  house  of 
the  learned  Agelastes,  by  leading  the  way;  therefore,  to  teach  you  Grecian 
breeding  must  fall  to  my  share.”  Saying  this  she  conducted  him  to  the 
inner  apartment. 

“  Fear  not  for  your  wife,”  she  said,  as  she  noticed  the  Frank  look  round  ; 
“  our  husband,  like  ourselves,  has  pleasure  in  showing  attention  to  the 
stranger,  and  will  lead  the  Countess  to  our  board.  It  is  not  the  custom  of 
the  Imperial  family  to  eat  in  company  with  strangers  ;  but  we  thank  Heaven 
for  having  instructed  us  in  that  civility,  which  can  know  no  degradation  in 
dispensing  with  ordinary  rules  to  do  honour  to  strangers  of  such  merit  as 
yours.  I  know  it  will  be  my  mother’s  request,  that  you  will  take  your 
places  without  ceremony ;  and  also,  although  the  grace  be  somewhat  par¬ 
ticular,  I  am  sure  that  it  will  have  my  Imperial  father’s  approbation. 

“  Be  it  as  your  ladyship  lists,”  said  Count  Robert.  “  There  are  few  men 
to  whom  I  would  yield  place  at  the  board,  if  they  had  not  gone  before 
me  in  the  battle-field.  To  a  lady,  especially  so  fair  a  one,  I  willingly 
yield  my  place,  and  bend  my  knee,  whenever  I  have  the  good  hap  to  meet 
her.”  ■  ^ 

The  Princess  Anna,  instead  of  feeling  herself  awkward  in  the  discharge 
of  the  extraordinary,  and,  as  she  might  have  thought  it,  degrading  office  of 
ushering  a  barbarian  chief  to  the  banquet,  felt,  on  the  contrary,  flattered, 
at  having  bent  to  her  purpose  a  heart  so  obstinate  as  that  of  Count  Robert, 
and  elated,  perhaps,  with  a  certain  degree  of  satisfied  pride  while  under 
his  momentary  protection. 

The  Empress  Irene  had  already  seated  herself  at  the  head  of  the  table. 
She  looked  with  some  astonishment,  when  her  daughter  and  son-in-law, 
taking  their  seats  at  her  right  and  left  hand,  invited  the  Count  and  Countess 
of  Paris,  the  former  to  recline,  the  latter  to  sit  at  the  board,  in  the  places 
next  to  themselves ;  but  she  had  received  the  strictest  orders  from  her  hus¬ 
band  to  be  deferential  in  every  respect  to  the  strangers,  and  did  not  think 
it  right,  therefore,  to  interpose  any  ceremonious  scruples. 

The  Countess  took  her  seat,  as  indicated,  beside  the  Caesar;  and  the  Count, 
instead  of  reclining  in  the  mode  of  the  Grecian  men,  also  seated  himself  in 
the  European  fashion  by  the  Princess. 

“I  will  not  lie  prostrate,”  said  he,  laughing,  “except  in  consideration  of 
a  blow  weighty  enough  to  compel  me  to  do  so  ;  nor  then  either,  if  I  am  able 
to  start  up  and  return  it.” 

The  service  of  the  table  then  began,  and,  to  say  truth,  it  appeared  to  be 
VoL.  XII.  — 8  is:2 


114 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 

an  important  part  of  the  business  of  the  day.  The  officers  who  attended  to 
perform  their  several  duties  of  deckers  of  the  table,  sewers  of  the  banquet, 
removers  and  tasters  to  the  Imperial  family,  thronged  into  the  banqueting 
room,  and  seemed  to  vie  with  each  other  in  calling  upon  Agelastes  for 
spices,  condiments,  sauces,  and  wines  of  various  kinds,  the  variety  and 
multiplicity  of  their  demands  being  apparently  devised  ex  preposito,  for 
stirring  the  patience  of  the  philosopher.  But  Agelastes,  who  had  antici¬ 
pated  most  of  their  requests,  however  unusual,  supplied  them  completely, 
or  in  the  greatest  part,  by  the  ready  agency  of  his  active  slave  Diogenes,  to 
whom,  at  the  same  time,  he  contrived  to  transfer  all  blame  for  the  absence 
of  such  articles  as  he  was  unable  to  provide. 

“  Be  Homer  my  witness,  the  accomplished  Virgil,  and  the  curious  felicity 
of  Horace,  that,  trifling  and  unworthy  as  this  banquet  was,  my  note  of 
directions  to  this  thrice  unhappy  slave  gave  the  instructions  to  procure 
every  ingredient  necessary  to  convey  to  each  dish  its  proper  gusto.  —  Ill- 
omened  carrion  that  thou  art,  wherefore  placedst  thou  the  pickled  cucumber 
so  far  apart  from  the  boar’s  head  ?  and  why  are  these  superb  congers  un¬ 
provided  with  a  requisite  quantity  of  fennel?  The  divorce  betwixt  the 
shell-fish  and  the  Chian  wine,  in  a  presence  like  this,  is  worthy  of  the  divorce 
of  thine  own  soul  from  thy  body ;  or,  to  say  the  least,  of  a  lifelong  resi¬ 
dence  in  the  Pistrinum.”  While  thus  the  philosopher  proceeded  with 
threats,  curses,  and  menaces  against  his  slave,  the  stranger  might  have  an 
opportunity  of  comparing  the  little  torrent  of  his  domestic  eloquence,  which 
the  manners  of  the  times  did  not  consider  as  ill-bred,  with  the  louder  and 
deeper  share  of  adulation  towards  his  guests.  They  mingled  like  the  oil 
with  the  vinegar  and  pickles  which  Diogenes  mixed  for  the  sauce.  Thus 
the  Count  and  Countess  had  an  opportunity  to  estimate  the  happiness  and 
the  felicity  reserved  for  those  slaves,  whom  the  Omnipotent  Jupiter,  in  the 
plenitude  of  compassion  for  their  state,  and  in  guerdon  of  their  good 
morals,  had  dedicated  to  the  service  of  a  philosopher.  The  share  they  them¬ 
selves  took  in  the  banquet,  was  finished  with  a  degree  of  speed  which  gave 
surprise  not  only  to  their  host,  but  also  to  the  Imperial  guests. 

The  Count  helped  himself  carelessly  out  of  a  dish  which  stood  near  him, 
and  partaking  of  a  draught  of  wine,  without  enquiring  whether  it  was  of 
the  vintage  which  the  Greeks  held  it  matter  of  conscience  to  mingle  with 
that  species  of  food,  he  declared  himself  satisfied ;  nor  could  the  obliging 
entreaties  of  his  neighbour,  Anna  Comnena,  induce  him  to  partake  of  other 
messes  represented  as  being  either  delicacies  or  curiosities.  His  spouse  ate 
still  more  moderately  of  the  food  which  seemed  most  simply  cooked,  and 
stood  nearest  her  at  the  board,  and  partook  of  a  cup  of  crystal  water,  which 
she  slightly  tinged  with  wine,  at  the  persevering  entreaty  of  the  Caesar. 
They  then  relinquished  the  farther  business  of  the  banquet,  and  leaning 
back  upon  their  seats,  occupied  themselves  in  watching  the  liberal  credit 
done  to  the  feast  by  the  rest  of  the  guests  present. 

A  modern  synod  of  gourmands  would  hardly  have  equalled  the  Imperial 
family  of  Greece  seated  at  a  philosophical  banquet,  whether  in  the  critical 
knowledge  displayed  of  the  science  of  eating  in  all  its  branches,  or  in  the 
practical  cost  and  patience  with  which  they  exercised  it.  The  ladies,  indeed, 
did  nut  eat  much  of  any  one  dish,  but  they  tasted  of  almost  all  that  were 
presented  to  them,  and  their  name  was  Legion.  Yet,  after  a  short  time,  in 
Homeric  phrase,  the  rage  of  thirst  and  hunger  was  assuaged,  or,  more  pro¬ 
bably,  the  Princess  Anna  Comnena  was  tired  of  being  an  object  of  some 
inattention  to  the  guest  who  sat  next  her,  and  who,  joining  his  high  mili¬ 
tary  character  to  his  very  handsome  presence,  was  a  person  by  whom  few 
ladies  would  willingly  be  neglected.  There  is  no  new  guise,  says  our  father 
Chaucer,  but  what  resembles  an  old  one  :  and  the  address  of  Anna  Comnena 
to  the  Frankish  Count  might  resemble  that  of  a  modern  lady  of  fashion,  in 
her  attempts  to  engage  in  conversation  the  exquisite,  who  sits  by  her  side  in 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


115 


an  apparently  absent  fit.  “We  have  piped  unto  you/' said  the  Princess, 
“  and  you  have  not  danced!  We  have  sung  to  you  the  jovial  chorus  of 
Evoe,  evoe,  and  you  v\dll  neither  worship  Comus  nor  Bacchus  !  Are  we  then 
to  judge  you  a  follower  of  the  Muses,  in  whose  service,  as  well  as  in  that 
of  Phoebus,  we  ourselves  pretend  to  be  enlisted  ?" 

“Fair  lady,"  replied  the  Frank,  “be  not  ofiended  at  my  stating  once  for 
all,  in  plain  terms,  that  I  am  a  Christian  man,  spitting  at,  and  bidding 
defiance  to  Apollo,  Bacchus,  Comus,  and  all  other  heathen  deities  wliatso- 
ever." 

“  0  1  cruel  interpretation  of  my  unwary  words  1"  said  the  Princess  ;  “  I 
did  but  mention  the  gods  of  music,  poetry,  and  eloquence,  worshipped  by 
our  divine  philosophers,  and  whose  names  are  still  used  to  distinguish  the 
arts  and  sciences  over  which  they  presided  —  and  the  Count  interprets  it 
seriously  into  a  breach  of  the  second  commandment  1  Our  Lady  preserve 
me,  we  must  take  care  how  we  speak,  when  our  words  are  so  sharply  inter¬ 
preted." 

The  Count  laughed  as  the  Princess  spoke.  “  I  had  no  offensive  meaning, 
madam,"  he  said,  “  nor  would  I  wish  to  interpret  your  words  otherwise 
than  as  being  most  innocent  and  praiseworthy.  I  shall  suppose  that  your 
speech  contained  all  that  was  fair  and  blameless.  You  are,  I  have  under¬ 
stood,  one  of  those  who,  like  our  worthy  host,  express  in  composition  the 
history  and  feats  of  the  w^arlike  time  in  which  you  live,  and  give  to  the 
yjosterity  w'hich  shall  succeed  us,  the  knowledge  of  the  brave  deeds  wdiich 
have  been  achieved  in  our  day.  I  respect  the  task  to  w^hich  you  have  dedi¬ 
cated  yourself,  and  know  not  how  a  lady  could  lay  after  ages  under  an  obli¬ 
gation  to  her  in  the  same  degree,  unless,  like  my  wife,  Brenhilda,  she  were 
herself  to  be  the  actress  of  deeds  wdiich  she  recorded.  And,  by  the  w'ay, 
she  now  looks  towards  her  neighbour  at  the  table,  as  if  she  were  about  to 
rise  and  leave  him  ;  her  inclinations  are  towards  Constantinople,  and,  wdth 
your  ladyship’s  permission,  I  cannot  allow  her  to  go  thither  alone." 

“That  you  shall  neither  of  you  do,"  said  Anna  Comnena;  “since  we  all 
go  to  the  capital  directly,  and  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  those  w'onders  of 
nature,  of  which  numerous  examples  have  been  collected  by  the  splendour 
of  my  Imperial  father. — If  my  husband  seems  to  have  given  offence  to  the 
Countess,  do  not  suppose  that  it  was  intentionally  dealt  to  her;  on  the  con¬ 
trary,  you  wdll  find  the  good  man,  when  you  are  better  acquainted  wdth  him, 
to  be  one  of  those  simple  persons  wLo  manage  so  unhappily  what  they  mean 
for  civilties,  that  those  to  wdiom  they  are  addressed  receive  them  frequently 
iu  another  sense." 

The  Countess  of  Paris,  however,  refused  again  to  sit  down  to  the  table 
from  which  she  had  risen,  so  that  Agelastes  and  his  Imperial  guests  saw 
themselves  under  the  necessity  either  to  permit  the  strangers  to  depart, 
wdiich  they  seemed  uuwdlling  to  do,  or  to  detain  them  by  force,  to  attempt 
wdiich  might  not  perhaps  have  been  either  safe  or  pleasant ;  or,  lastly,  to 
have  w’aived  the  etiquette  of  rank  and  set  out  along  with  them,  at  the  same 
time  managing  their  dignity,  so  as  to  take  the  initiatory  step,  though  the 
departure  took  place  upon  the  motion  of  their  wilful  guests.  Much  tumult 
there  was — bustling,  disputing,  and  shouting — among  the  troops  and  officers 
wdio  were  thus  moved  from  their  repast,  two  hours  at  least  sooner  than  had 
been  experienced  upon  similar  occasions  in  the  memory  of  the  oldest  among 
them.  A  different  arrangement  of  the  Imperial  party  likewise  seemed  to 
take  place  by  mutual  consent. 

Nicephorus  Briennius  ascended  the  seat  upon  the  elephant,  and  remained 
there  placed  beside  his  august  mother-in-law.  Agelastes,  on  a  sober-minded 
palfrey,  which  permitted  him  to  prolong  his  philosophical  harangues  at  his 
own  pleasure,  rode  beside  the  Countess  Brenhilda,  w'hom  he  made  the  prin¬ 
cipal  object  of  his  oratory.  The  fair  historian,  though  she  usually  travelled 
iu  a  litter,  preferred  upon  this  occasion  a  spirited  horse,  which  enabled  her 


116 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


to  keep  pace  with  Count  Robert  of  Paris,  on  whose  imagination,  if  not  his 
feelings,  she  seemed  to  have  it  in  view  to  work  a  marked  impression.  The 
con^^ersation  of  the  Empress  with  her  son-in-law  requires  no  special  detail. 
It  was  a  tissue  of  criticisms  upon  the  manners  and  behaviour  of  the  Franks, 
and  a  hearty  wish  that  they  might  be  soon  transported  from  the  realms  of 
Greece,  never  more  to  return.  Such  was  at  least  the  tone  of  the  Empress, 
nor  did  the  Caesar  find  it  convenient  to  express  any  more  tolerant  opinion 
of  the  strangers.  On  the  other  hand,  Agelastes  made  a  long  circuit  ere  he 
ventured  to  approach  the  subject  which  he  wished  to  introduce.  He  spoke 
of  the  menagerie  of  the  Emperor  as  a  most  superb  collection  of  natural 
history  ;  he  extolled  difierent  persons  at  court  for  having  encouraged  Alex¬ 
ius  Comnenus  in  this  wise  and  philosophical  amusement.  But,  finally,  the 
praise  of  all  others  was  abandoned  that  the  philosopher  might  dwell  upon 
that  of  Nicephorus  Briennius,  to  whom  the  cabinet  or  collection  of  Constan¬ 
tinople  was  indebted,  he  said,  for  the  principal  treasures  it  contained. 

“  I  am  glad  it  is  so,’^  said  the  haughty  Countess,  without  lowering  her 
voice  or  affecting  any  change  of  manner;  “I  am  glad  that  he  understands 
some  things  better  worth  understanding  than  whispering  with  stranger 
young  women.  Credit  me,  if  he  gives  much  license  to  his  tongue  among 
such  women  of  my  country  as  these  stirring  times  may  bring  hither, 
some  one  or  other  of  them  will  fling  him  into  the  cataract  which  dashes 
below.'^ 

“  Pardon  me,  fair  lady,^^  said  Agelastes  ;  “  no  female  heart  could  meditate 
an  action  so  atrocious  against  so  fine  a  form  as  that  of  the  Caesar  Nicephorus 
Briennius. '' 

“  Put  it  not  on  that  issue,  father,”  said  the  offended  Countess  ;  “  for,  by 
iny  patroness  Saint,  our  Lady  of  the  Broken  Lances,  had  it  not  been  for 
regard  to  these  two  ladies,  who  seemed  to  intend  some  respect  to  my  hus¬ 
band  and  myself,  that  same  Nicephorus  should  have  been  as  perfectly  a 
Lord  of  the  Broken  Bones  as  any  Caesar  who  has  borne  the  title  since  the 
great  Julius !” 

The  philosopher,  upon  this  explicit  information,  began  to  entertain  some 
personal  fear  for  himself,  and  hastened,  by  diverting  the  conversation, 
which  he  did  with  great  dexterity,  to  the  story  of  Hero  and  Leander,  to  put 
the  affront  received  out  of  the  head  of  this  unscrupulous  Amazon. 

Meantime,  Count  Robert  of  Paris  was  engrossed,  as  it  may  be  termed, 
by  the  fair  Anna  Comnena.  She  spoke  on  all  subjects,  on  some  better, 
doubtless,  others  worse,  but  on  none  did  she  suspect  herself  of  any  defi¬ 
ciency  ;  while  the  good  Count  wished  heartily  within  himself  that  his  com¬ 
panion  had  been  safely  in  bed  with  the  enchanted  Princess  of  Zulichium. 
She  performed,  right  or  wrong,  the  part  of  a  panegyrist  of  the  Normans, 
until  at  length  the  Count,  tired  of  hearing  her  prate  of  she  knew  not  exactly 
what,  broke  in  as  follows  : — 

“  Lady,”  he  said,  “  notwithstanding  I  and  my  followers  are  sometimes  so 
named,  yet  we  are  not  Normans,  who  come  hither  as  a  numerous  and  sepa¬ 
rate  body  of  pilgrims,  under  the  command  of  their  Duke  Robert,  a  valiant, 
though  extravagant,  thoughtless,  and  weak  man.  I  say  nothing  against  the 
fame  of  these  Normans.  They  conquered,  in  our  fathers’  days,  a  kingdom 
far  stronger  than  their  own,  which  men  call  England ;  I  see  that  you  enter¬ 
tain  some  of  the  natives  of  which  country  in  your  pay,  under  the  name  of 
Varangians.  Although  defeated,  as  I  said,  by  the  Normans,  they  are, 
nevertheless,  a  brave  race  ;  nor  would  we  think  ourselves  much  dishonoured 
by  mixing  in  battle  with  them.  Still  we  are  the  valiant  Franks,  who  had 
their  dwelling  on  the  eastern  banks  of  the  Rhine  and  of  the  Saale,  who 
were  converted  to  the  Christian  faith  by  the  celebrated  Clovis,  and  are  suffi¬ 
cient,  by  our  numbers  and  courage,  to  re-conquer  the  Holy  Land,  should 
all  Europe  besides  stand  neutral  in  the  contest.” 

There  are  few  things  more  painful  to  the  vanity  of  a  person  like  the  Prin 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS.  117 

cess,  than  the  being  detected  in  an  egregious  error,  at  the  moment  she  is 
taking  credit  to  herself  for  being  peculiarly  accurately  informed. 

“  A  false  slave,  who  knew  not  what  he  was  saying,  I  suppose,”  said  the 
Princess,  “  imposed  upon  me  the  belief  that  the  Varangians  were  the 
natural  enemies  of  the  Normans.  I  see  him  marching  there  by  the  side  of 
Achilles  Tatius,  the  leader  of  his  corps.  —  Call  him  hither,  you  officers! — ■ 
Yonder  tall  man,  I  mean,  with  the  battle-axe  upon  his  shoulder.” 

Ilereward,  distinguished  by  his  post  at  the  head  of  the  squadron,  was 
summoned  from  thence  to  the  presence  of  the  Princess,  where  he  made  his 
military  obeisance  with  a  cast  of  sternness  in  his  aspect,  as  his  glance 
liglited  upon  the  proud  look  of  the  Frenchman  \vho  rode  beside  Anna 
Comnena. 

“  Did  I  not  understand  thee,  fellow,”  said  Anna  Comnena,  “  to  have 
informed  me,  nearly  a  month  ago,  that  the  Normans  and  the  Franks  were 
the  same  people,  and  enemies  to  the  race  from  which  you  spring  ?” 

“  The  Normans  are  our  mortal  enemies.  Lady,”  answered  Ilereward,  “  by 
wdiorn  we  were  driven  from  our  native  land.  The  Franks  are  subjects  of 
the  same  Lord-Paramount  with  the  Normans,  and  therefore  they  neither 
love  the  Varangians,  nor  are  beloved  by  them.” 

“Good  fellow,”  said  the  French  Count,  “you  do  the  Franks  wrong,  and 
ascribe  to  the  Varangians,  although  not  unnaturally,  an  undue  degree  of 
importance,  when  you  suppose  that  a  race  which  has  ceased  to  exist  as  an 
independent  nation  for  more  than  a  generation,  can  be  either  an  object  of 
interest  or  resentment  to  such  as  we  are.” 

“  I  am  no  stranger,”  said  the  Varangian,  “  to  the  pride  of  your  heart,  or 
the  precedence  which  you  assume  over  those  who  have  been  less  fortunate 
in  w’ar  than  yourselves.  It  is  God  who  casteth  down  and  who  buildeth  up, 
nor  is  there  in  the  w'orld  a  prospect  to  Avhich  the  Varangians  would  look 
forward  with  more  pleasure  than  that  a  hundred  of  their  number  should 
meet  in  a  fair  field,  either  with  the  oppressive  Normans,  or  their  modern 
compatriots,  the  vain  Frenchmen,  and  let  God  be  the  judge  w'hich  is  most 
wmrthy  of  victory.” 

“  You  take  an  insolent  advantage  of  the  chance,”  said  the  Count  of  Paris, 
“  which  gives  you  an  unlooked-for  opportunity  to  brave  a  nobleman.” 

“  It  is  my  sorrow  and  shame,”  said  the  Varangian,  “  that  that  opportunity 
is  not  complete  ;  and  that  there  is  a  chain  around  me  wdiicfi  forbids  me  to 
say.  Slay  me,  or  Pll  kill  thee  before  we  part  from  this  spot !” 

“Why,  thou  foolish  and  hot-brained  churl,”  replied  the  Count,  “what 
right  hast  thou  to  the  honour  of  dying  by  my  blade  ?  Thou  art  mad,  or 
hast  drained  the  ale-cup  so  deeply  that  thou  knowest  not  what  thou  thinkest 
or  sayest.” 

“Thou  liest,”  said  the  Varangian;  “though  such  a  reproach  be  the 
utmost  scandal  of  thy  race.” 

The  Frenchman  motioned  his  hand  quicker  than  light  to  his  sword,  but 
instantly  withdrew  it,  and  said  with  dignity,  “thou  canst  not  offend  me.” 

“But  thou,”  said  the  exile,  “hast  offended  me  in  a  matter  wdiich  can 
only  be  atoned  by  thy  manhood.” 

“Where  and  how?”  answered  the  Count;  “although  it  is  needless  to  ask 
the  question,  which  thou  canst  not  answer  rationally.” 

“Thou  hast  this  day,”  answered  the  Varangian,  “put  a  mortal  affront 
upon  a  great  prince,  whom  thy  master  calls  his  ally,  and  by  whom  thou 
hast  been  received  with  every  rite  of  hospitality.  Him  thou  hast  affronted 
as  one  peasant  at  a  merry-making  would  do  shame  to  another,  and  this  dis¬ 
honour  thou  hast  done  to  him  in  the  very  face  of  his  own  chiefs  and  princes, 
and  the  nobles  from  every  court  of  Europe.” 

“  It  was  thy  master’s  part  to  resent  my  conduct,”  said  the  Frenchman, 
“  if  in  reality  he  so  much  felt  it  as  an  affront.” 

“But  that,”  said  Ilereward,  “did  not  consist  with  the  manners  of  his 


118 


WAVER  LEY  NOVELS. 


country  to  do.  Besides  that,  we  trusty  Varangians  esteem  ourselves  bound 
by  our  oath  as  much  to  defend  our  Emperor,  while  the  service  lasts,  on  every 
inch  of  his  honour  as  on  every  foot  of  his  territory ;  I  therefore  tell  thee, 
Sir  Knight,  Sir  Count,  or  whatever  thou  callest  thyself,  there  is  mortal 
quarrel  between  thee  and  the  Varangian  guard,  ever  and  until  thou  hast 
fought  it  out  in  fair  and  manly  battle,  body  to  body,  with  one  of  the  said 
Imperial  Varangians,  when  duty  and  opportunity  shall  permit:  —  and  so 
God  schaw  the  right  V* 

As  this  passed  in  the  French  language,  the  meaning  escaped  the  under¬ 
standing  of  such  Imperialists  as  were  within  hearing  at  the  time  ;  and  the 
Princess,  who  waited  with  some  astonishment  till  the  Crusader  and  the  Va¬ 
rangian  had  finished  their  conference,  when  it  was  over,  said  to  him  with 
interest,  “  I  trust  you  feel  that  poor  man’s  situation  to  be  too  much  at  a 
distance  from  your  own,  to  admit  of  your  meeting  him  in  what  is  termed 
knightly  battle  ?” 

“  On  such  a  question,”  said  the  knight,  “  I  have  but  one  answer  to  any 
lady  who  does  not,  like  my  Brenhilda,  cover  herself  with  a  shield,  and  bear 
a  sword  by  her  side,  and  the  heart  of  a  knight  in  her  bosom.” 

“And  suppose  for  once,”  said  the  Princess  Anna  Comnena,  “that  I  pos¬ 
sessed  such  titles  to  your  confidence,  what  would  your  answer  be  to  me  ?” 

“  There  can  be  little  reason  for  concealing  it,”  said  the  Count.  “  The 
Varangian  is  a  brave  man,  and  a  strong  one;  it  is  contrary  to  my  vow  to 
shun  his  challenge,  and  perhaps  I  shall  derogate  from  my  rank  by  accepting 
it ;  but  the  world  is  wide,  and  he  is  yet  to  be  born  who  has  seen  Robert  of 
Paris  shun  the  face  of  mortal  man.  By  means  of  some  gallant  officer  among 
the  Emperor’s  guards,  this  poor  fellow,  who  nourishes  so  strange  an  ambi¬ 
tion,  shall  learn  that  he  shall  have  his  wish  gratified.” 

“  And  then  ?” - said  Anna  Comnena. 

“  Why,  then,”  said  the  Count,  “  in  the  poor  man’s  own  language,  God 
schaw  the  right !” 

“Which  is  to  say,”  said  the  Princess,  “that  if  my  father  has  an  officer 
of  his  guards  honourable  enough  to  forward  so  pious  and  reasonable  a  pur¬ 
pose,  the  Emperor  must  lose  an  ally,  in  whose  faith  he  puts  confidence,  or  a 
most  trusty  and  faithful  soldier  of  his  personal  guard,  who  has  distin¬ 
guished  himself  upon  many  occasions?” 

“I  am  happy  to  hear,”  said  the  Count,  “that  the  man  bears  such  a  cha¬ 
racter.  In  truth,  his  ambition  ought  to  have  some  foundation.  The  more 
I  think  of  it,  the  rather  am  I  of  opinion  that  there  is  something  generous, 
rather  than  derogatory,  in  giving  to  the  the  poor  exile,  whose  thoughts  are 
so  high  and  noble,  those  privileges  of  a  man  of  rank,  which  some  who  were 
born  in  such  lofty  station  are  too  cowardly  to  avail  themselves  of.  Yet 
despond  not,  noble  Princess ;  the  challenge  is  not  yet  accepted  of,  and  if  it 
was,  the  issue  is  in  the  hand  of  God.  As  for  me,  whose  trade  is  war,  the 
sense  that  I  have  something  so  serious  to  transact  with  this  resolute  man, 
will  keep  me  from  other  less  honourable  quarrels,  in  which  a  lack  of  occu¬ 
pation  might  be  apt  to  involve  me.” 

The  Princess  made  no  farther  observation,  being  resolved,  by  private 
remonstrance  to  Achilles  Tatius,  to  engage  him  to  prevent  a  meeting  which 
might  be  fatal  to  the  one  or  the  other  of  two  brave  men.  The  town  now 
darkened  before  them,  sparkling,  at  the  same  time,  through  its  obscurity, 
by  the  many  lights  which  illuminated  the  houses  of  the  citizens.  The  royal 
cavalcade  held  their  way  to  the  Golden  Gate,  where  the  trusty  centurion  put 
his  guard  under  arms  to  receive  them. 

“We  must  now  break  off,  fair  ladies,”  said  the  Count,  as  the  party, 
having  now  dismounted,  werh  standing  together  at  the  private  gate  of  the 
Blacquernal  Palace,  “  and  find  as  we  can,  the  lodgings  which  we  occupied 
last  night.” 

“  Under  your  favour,  no,”  said  the  Empress.  “  You  must  be  content  to 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


119 


take  your  supper  and  repose  in  quarters  more  fitting  your  rank  ;  and/’ 
added  Irene,  “  with  no  worse  quartermaster  than  one  of  the  Imperial  family 
who  has  been  your  travelling  companion.” 

This  the  Count  heard,  Avith  considerable  inclination  to  accept  the  hospi¬ 
tality  which  Avas  so  readily  offered.  Although  as  devoted  as  a  man  could 
well  be  to  the  charms  of  his  Brenhilda,  the  very  idea  never  having  entered 
his  head  of  preferring  another’s  beauty  to  hers,  yet,  nevertheless,  he  had 
naturally  felt  himself  flattered  by  the  attentions  of  a  Avoman  of  eminent 
beauty  and  very  high  rank ;  and  the  praises  with  Avhich  the  Princess  had 
loaded  him,  had  not  entirely  fallen  to  the  ground.  He  Avas  no  longer  in  the 
humour  in  Avhich  the  morning  had  found  him,  disposed  to  outrage  the  feel¬ 
ings  of  the  Emperor,  and  to  insult  his  dignity ;  but,  flattered  by  the  adroit 
sycophancy  which  the  old  philosopher  had  learned  from  the  schools,  and 
the  beautiful  Princess  had  been  gifted  with  by  nature,  he  assented  to  the 
Empress’s  proposal ;  the  more  readily,  perhaps,  that  the  darkness  did  not 
permit  him  to  see  that  there  Avas  distinctly  a  shade  of  displeasure  on  the 
brow  of  Brenhilda.  Whatever  the  cause,  she  cared  not  to  express  it,  and 
the  married  pair  had  just  entered  that  labyrinth  of  passages  through  Avhich 
IlereAvard  had  formerly  wandered,  when  a  chamberlain,  and  a  female 
attendant,  richly  dressed,  bent  the  knee  before  them,  and  offered  them  tho 
means  and  place  to  adjust  their  attire,  ere  they  entered  the  Imperial  pre¬ 
sence.  Brenhilda  looked  upon  her  apparel  and  arms,  spotted  with  the  blood 
of  the  insolent  Scythian,  and,  Amazon  as  she  was,  felt  the  shame  of  being 
carelessly  and  improperly  dressed.  The  arms  of  the  knight  were  also 
bloody,  and  in  disarrangement. 

“  Tell  my  female  squire,  Agatha,  to  give  her  attendance,”  said  the 
Countess.  ”  She  alone  is  in  the  habit  of  assisting  to  unarm  and  to  attij-e 
me.” 

“  Now,  God  be  praised,”  thought  the  Grecian  lady  of  the  bed-chamber, 
“  that  I  am  not  called  to  a  toilet  Avhere  smiths’  hammers  and  tongs  are  like 
to  be  the  instruments  most  in  request!” 

‘‘Tell  Marcian,  my  armourer,”  said  the  Count,  “to  attend  with  the  silver 
and  blue  suit  of  plate  and  mail  Avhich  I  won  in  a  wager  from  the  Count  of 
Thoulouse.”  * 

“Might  I  not  haA^e  the  honour  of  adjusting  your  armour,”  said  a  splen¬ 
didly  drest  courtier,  with  some  marks  of  the  armourer’s  profession,  “  since 
1  have  put  on  that  of  the  Emperor  himself?  —  may  his  name  be  sacred  1” 

“  And  how  many  rivets  hast  thou  clenched  upon  the  occasion  Avith  this 
hand,”  said  the  Count,  catching  hold  of  it,  “  which  looks  as  if  it  had  never 
been  washed,  save  with  milk  of  roses, — and  Avith  this  childish  toy?”  point¬ 
ing  to  a  hammer  with  iA^ory  haft  and  silver  head,  Avhich,  stuck  into  a  milk- 
white  kidskin  apron,  the  official  AA^ore  as  badges  of  his  duty.  The  armourer 
fell  back  in  some  confusion.  “  His  grasp,”  he  said  to  another  domestic, 
“  is  like  the  seizure  of  a  vice  1” 

While  this  little  scene  passed  apart,  the  Empress  Irene,  her  daughter,  and 
her  son-in-laAV,  left  the  company,  under  pretence  of  making  a  necessary 
change  in  their  apparel.  Immediately  after,  Agelastes  was  required  to 
attend  the  Emperor,  and  the  strangers  were  conducted  to  two  adjacent 
chambers  of  retirement,  splendidly  fitted  up,  and  placed  for  the  present  at 
their  disposal,  and  that  of  their  attendants.  There  Ave  shall  for  a  time  leave 
them,  assuming,  Avith  the  assistance  of  their  OAvn  attendants,  a  dress  which 
their  ideas  regarded  as  most  fit  for  a  great  occasion  ;  those  of  the  Grecian 
court  Avillingly  keeping  apart  from  a  task  Avhich  they  held  nearly  as  formi¬ 
dable  as  assisting  at  the  lair  of  a  royal  tiger  or  his  bride. 

*  Ruymond  Count  of  Thonlonse.  and  St.  Giles,  Duke  of  Carbonne,  and  Marquis  of  Provence,  an  aered  war¬ 
rior  who  had  won  hiph  distinction  in  the  contests  against  the  Saracens  in  Spain,  was  the  chief  leader  of  the 
Crusaders  from  the  south  of  France.  His  title  of  St.  Giles  is  corrupted  by  Anna  Comnena  into  Sanyks,  by 
which  name  she  constantly  mentions  him  in  the  Alexiad. 


120 


WAVER  LEY  NOVELS. 


Ajrelastes  found  the  Emperor  sedulously  arranging  his  most  splendid 
court-dress ;  for,  as  in  the  court  of  Pekin,  the  change  of  ceremonial  attire 
was  a  great  part  of  the  ritual  observed  at  Constantinople, 

“  Thou  hast  done  well,  wise  Agelastes,^^  said  Alexius  to  the_  philosopher, 
as  he  approached  with  abundance  of  prostrations  and  genuflexions — “  Thou 
hast  done  well,  and  we  are  content  with  thee.  Less  than  thy  wit  and 
address  must  have  failed  in  separating  from  their  company  this  tameless 
bull,  and  unyoked  heifer,  over  whom,  if  we  obtain  influence,  we  shall  com¬ 
mand,  by  every  account,  no  small  interest  among  those  who  esteem  them 
the  bravest  in  the  host.’^ 

“  My  humble  understanding,^'  said  Agelastes,  “  had  been  infinitely  infe¬ 
rior  to  the  management  of  so  prudent  and  sagacious  a  scheme,  had  it  not 
been  shaped  forth  and  suggested  by  the  inimitable  wisdom  of  your  most 
sacred  Imperial  Highness." 

“We  are  aware,"  said  Alexius,  “that  we  had  the  merit  of  blocking  forth 
the  scheme  of  detaining  these  persons,  either  by  their  choice  as  allies,  or 
by  main  force  as  hostages.  Their  friends,  ere  yet  they  have  missed  them, 
will  be  engaged  in  war  with  the  Turks,  and  at  no  liberty,  if  the  devil  should 
suggest  such  an  undertaking,  to  take  arms  against  the  sacred  empire.  Thus, 
Agelastes,  we  shall  obtain  hostages  at  least  as  important  and  as  valuable  as 
that  Count  of  Vermandois,  whose  liberty  the  tremendous  Godfrey  of  Bouillon 
extorted  from  us  by  threats  of  instant  war." 

“  Pardon,"  said  Agelastes,  “  if  I  add  another  reason  to  those  which  of 
themselves  so  heavily  support  your  august  resolution.  It  is  possible  that 
we  may,  by  observing  the  greatest  caution  and  courtesy  towards  these 
strangers,  win  them  in  good  earnest  to  our  side." 

“I  conceive  you,  I  conceive  you/'  —  said  the  Emperor;  “and  this  very 
night  I  will  exhibit  myself  to  this  Count  and  his  lady  in  the  royal  presence 
chamber,  in  the  richest  robes  Mdiich  our  wardrobe  can  furnish.  The  lions 
of  Solomon  shall  roar,  the  golden  tree  of  Comnenus  shall  display  its  won¬ 
ders,  and  the  feeble  eyes  of  these  Franks  shall  be  altogether  dazzled  by  the 
splendour  of  the  empire.  These  spectacles  cannot  but  sink  into  their  minds, 
and  dispose  them  to  become  the  allies  and  servants  of  a  nation  so  much 
more  powerful,  skilful,  and  wealthy  than  their  own  —  Thou  hast  something 
to  say,  Agelastes.  Years  and  long  study  have  made  thee  wise ;  though  we 
have  given  our  opinion,  thou  mayst  speak  thine  own,  and  live." 

Thrice  three  times  did  Agelastes  press  his  brow  against  the  hem  of  the 
Emperor’s  garment,  and  great  seemed  his  anxiety  to  find  such  words  as 
might  intimate  his  dissent  from  his  sovereign,  yet  save  him  from  the  infor¬ 
mality  of  contradicting  him  expressly. 

“  These  sacred  words,  in  which  your  sacred  Highness  has  uttered  your 
most  just  and  accurate  opinions,  are  undeniable,  and  incapable  of  contra¬ 
diction,  were  any  vain  enough  to  attempt  to  impugn  them.  Nevertheless, 
be  it  lawful  to  say,  that  men  show  the  wisest  arguments  in  vain  to  those 
who  do  not  understand  reason,  just  as  you  would  in  vain  exhibit  a  curious 
piece  of  limning  to  the  blind,  or  endeavour  to  bribe,  as  scripture  saith,  a 
sow  by  the  offer  of  a  precious  stone.  The  fault  is  not,  in  such  case,  in  the 
accuracy  of  your  sacred  reasoning,  but  in  the  obtuseness  and  perverseness 
of  the  barbarians  to  whom  it  is  applied." 

“  Speak  more  plainly,"  said  the  Emperor ;  “  how  often  must  we  tell  thee, 
that  in  cases  in  which  we  really  want  counsel,  we  know  we  must  be  con¬ 
tented  to  sacrifice  ceremon^  ?" 

“  Then  in  plain  words,"  said  Agelastes,  “  these  European  barbarians  are 
like  no  others  under  the  cope  of  the  universe,  either  on  the  things  on  which 
they  look  with  desire,  or  on  those  which  they  consider  as  discouraging.  The 
treasures  of  this  noble  empire,  so  far  as  they  affected  their  wishes,  would 
merely  inspire  them  with  the  desire  to  go  to  -war  with  a  nation  possessed  of 
(SO  much  wealth,  and  who,  in  their  self-conceited  estimation,  were  less  able 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


121 


to  defend,  than  they  themselves  are  powerful  to  assail.  Of  such  a  descrip¬ 
tion,  for  instance,  is  Bohemond  of  Tarentura,  —  and  such  a  one  is  many  a 
crusader  less  able  and  sagacious  than  he ; — for  I  think  I  need  not  tell  your 
Imperial  Divinity,  that  he  holds  his  own  self-interest  to  be  the  devoted  guide 
of  his  whole  conduct  through  this  extraordinary  war ;  and  that,  therefore, 
you  can  justly  calculate  his  course,  when  once  you  are  aware  from  which 
point  of  the  compass  the  wind  of  avarice  and  self-interest  breathes  with 
respect  to  him.  But  there  are  spirits  among  the  Franks  of  a  very  different 
nature,  and  who  must  be  acted  upon  by  very  different  motives,  if  we  would 
make  ourselves  masters  of  their  actions,  and  the  principles  by  which  they 
are  governed.  If  it  were  lawful  to  do  so,  I  would  request  your  Majesty  to 
look  at  the  manner  by  which  an  artful  juggler  of  your  court  achieves  his 
imposition  upon  the  eyes  of  spectators,  yet  heedfully  disguises  the  moans 
by  which  he  attains  his  object.  This  people — I  mean  the  more  lofty-minded 
of  these  crusaders,  who  act  up  to  the  pretences  of  the  doctrines  which  they 
call  chivalry — despise  the  thirst  of  gold,  and  gold  itself,  unless  to  hilt  their 
swords,  or  to  furnish  forth  some  necessary  expenses,  as  alike  useless  and 
contemptible.  The  man  who  can  be  moved  by  the  thirst  of  gain,  they  con¬ 
temn,  scorn,  and  despise,  and  liken  him,  in  the  meanness  of  his  objects,  to 
the  most  paltry  serf  that  ever  followed  the  plough,  or  wielded  the  spade. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  it  happens  that  they  actually  need  gold,  they  are  suf¬ 
ficiently  unceremonious  in  taking  it  where  they  can  most  easily  find  it. 
Thus,  they  are  neither  easily  to  be  bribed  by  giving  them  gums  of  gold,  nor 
to  be  starved  into  compliance  by  withholding  what  chance  may  render 
necessary  for  them.  In  the  one  case,  they  set  no  value  upon  the  gift  of  a 
little  paltry  yellow  dross ;  in  the  other,  they  are  accustomed  to  take  what 
they  want.^’ 

“  Yellow  dross  interrupted  Alexius.  “  Do  they  call  that  noble  metal, 
equally  respected  by  Roman  and  barbarian,  by  rich  and  poor,  by  great  and 
mean,  by  churchmen  and  laymen,  which  all  mankind  are  fighting  for,  plot¬ 
ting  for,  planning  for,  intriguing  for,  and  damning  themselves  for,  both  soul 
and  body  —  by  the  opprobrious  name  of  yellow  dross?  They  are  mad, 
Agelastes,  utterly  mad.  Perils  and  dangers,  penalties  and  scourges,  are 
the  arguments  to  which  men  who  are  above  the  universal  influence  which 
moves  all  others,  can  possibly  be  accessible.” 

“  Nor  are  they,”  said  Agelastes,  “  more  accessible  to  fear  than  they  are 
to  self-interest.  They  are  indeed,  from  their  boyhood,  brought  up  to  scorn 
those  passions  which  influence  ordinary  minds,  whether  by  means  of  avarice 
to  impel,  or  of  fear  to  hold  back.  So  much  is  this  the  case,  that  what  is 
enticing  to  other  men,  must,  to  interest  them,  have  the  piquant  sauce  of 
extreme  danger.  I  told,  for  instance,  to  this  very  hero,  a  legend  of  a 
Princess  of  Zulichiura,  who  lay  on  an  enchanted  couch,  beautiful  as  an 
angel,  awaiting  the  chosen  knight  who  should,  by  dispelling  her  enchanted 
slumbers,  become  master  oT  her  person,  of  her  kingdom  of  Zulichium,  and 
of  her  countless  treasures ;  and,  would  your  Imperial  Majesty  believe  me, 
I  could  scarce  get  the  gallant  to  attend  to  my  legend  or  take  any  interest  in 
the  adventure,  till  I  assured  him  he  would  have  to  encounter  a  winged 
dragon,  compared  to  which  the  largest  of  those  in  the  Frank  romances  was 
but  like  a  mere  dragon-fly  ?” 

And  did  this  move  the  gallant  ?”  said  the  Emperor. 

So  much  so,”  replied  the  philosopher,  “  that  had  I  not  unfortunately, 
by  the  earnestness  of  my  description,  awakened  the  jealousy  of  his  Pen- 
thesilea  of  a  Countess,  he  had  forgotten  the  crusade  and  all  belonging  to 
it,  to  go  in  quest  of  Zulichium  and  its  slumbering  sovereign.” 

“Nav,  then,”  said  the  Emperor,  “we  have  in  our  empire  (make  us  sen¬ 
sible  of^  the  advantage!)  innumerable  tale-tellers  who  are  not  possessed  in 
the  slightest  degree  of  that  noble  scorn  of  gold  which  is  proper  to  tho 
Vranks,  but  shall,  for  a  brace  of  besants,  lie  with  the  devil,  and  beat  him 

L 


122 


W  A  V  E  R  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 


to  boot,  if  in  that  manner  we  can  gain,  as  mariners  say,  the  weathergago 
of  the  Franks/' 

“Discretion,"  said  Agelastcs,  “is  in  the  highest  degree  necessary.  Simply 
to  lie  is  no  very  great  matter  ;  it  is  merely  a  departure  from  the  truth,  which 
is  little  dilferent  from  missing  a  mark  at  archery,  where  the  whole  horizon, 
one  point  alone  excepted,  will  alike  serve  the  shooter’s  purpose ;  but  to 
move  the  Frank  as  is  desired,  requires  a  perfect  knowledge  of  his  temper 
and  disposition,  great  caution  and  presence  of  mind,  and  the  most  versatile 
readiness  in  changing  from  one  subject  to  another.  Had  I  not  myself  been 
somewhat  alert,  I  might  have  paid  the  penalty  of  a  false  step  in  your 
Majesty’s  service,  by  being  flung  into  my  own  cascade  by  the  virago  whom 
I  offended.’’ 

“A  perfect  Thalestris !’’  said  the  Emperor;  “I  shall  take  care  what 
offence  I  give  her.’’ 

“If  I  might  speak  and  live,’’  said  Agelastes,  “the  Caesar  Nicephorus 
Briennius  had  best  adopt  the  same  precaution.’’ 

“  Nicephorus,’’  said  the  Emperor,  “  must  settle  that  with  our  daughter. 
I  have  ever  told  her  that  she  gives  him  too  much  of  that  history,  of  which  a 
page  or  two  is  sufficiently  refreshing ;  but  by  our  own  self  we  must  swear 
it,  Agelastes,  that,  night  after  night,  hearing  nothing  else,  would  subdue  the 
patience  of  a  saint!  —  Forget,  good  Agelastes,  that  thou  hast  heard  me  say 
such  a  thing  —  more  especially,  remember  it  not  when  thou  art  in  presence 
of  our  Imperial  wife  and  daughter.’’ 

“Nor  were  the  freedoms  taken  by  the  Caesar  beyond  the  bounds  of  an 
innocent  gallantry,’’  said  Agelastes  ;  “  but  the  Countess,  I  must  needs  say, 
is  dangerous.  She  killed  this  day  the  Scythian  Toxartis,  by  what  seemed 
a  mere  fillip  on  the  head.’’ 

“  Hah  !’’  said  the  Emperor ;  “  I  knew  that  Toxartis,  and  he  was  like 
enough  to  deserve  his  death,  being  a  bold  unscrupulous  marauder.  Take 
notes,  however,  how  it  happened,  the  names  of  witnesses,  &c.,  that,  if  neces¬ 
sary,  we  may  exhibit  the  fact  as  a  deed  of  aggression  on  the  part  of  the 
Count  and  Countess  of  Paris,  to  the  assembly  of  the  crusaders.’’ 

“I  trust,’’  said  Agelastes,  “your  Imperial  Majesty  will  not  easily  resign 
the  golden  opportunity  of  gaining  to  your  standard  persons  whose  character 
stands  so  very  high  in  chivalry.  It  would  cost  you  but  little  to  bestow  upon 
them  a  Grecian  island,  worth  a  hundred  of  their  own  paltry  lordship  of 
Paris ;  and  if  it  were  given  under  the  condition  of  their  expelling  the  in¬ 
fidels  or  the  disaffected  who  may  have  obtained  the  temporary  possession,  it 
would  be  so  much  the  more  likely  to  be  an  acceptable  offer.  I  need  not  say 
that  the  whole  knowledge,  wisdom,  and  skill  of  the  poor  Agelastes  is  at 
your  Imperial  Majesty’s  disposal.’’ 

The  Emperor  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  as  if  on  full  considera¬ 
tion,  “Worthy  Agelastes,  I  dare  trust  thee  in  this  difficult  and  somewhat 
dangerous  matter ;  but  I  will  keep  my  purpose  of  exhibiting  to  them  the 
lions  of  Solomon,  and  the  golden  tree  of  our  Imperial  house.’’ 

“To  that  there  can  be  no  objection,’’  returned  the  philosopher;  “only  re¬ 
member  to  exhibit  few  guards,  for  these  Franks  are  like  a  fiery  horse;  when 
in  temper  he  may  be  ridden  with  a  silk  thread,  but  when  he  has  taken  um¬ 
brage  or  suspicion,  as  they  would  likely  do  if  they  saw  many  armed  men,  a 
steel  bridle  would  not  restrain  him.’’ 

“  I  will  be  cautious,’’  said  the  Emperor,  “  in  that  particular,  as  well  as 
others.  —  Sound  the  silver  bell,  Agelastes,  that  the  officers  of  our  wardrobe 
may  attend.’’ 

“  One  single  word,  while  your  Highness  is  alone,’’  said  Agelastes.  “  Will 
your  Imperial  Majesty  transfer  to  me  the  direction  of  your  menagerie,  or 
collection  of  extraordinary  creatures?’’ 

“  You  make  me  wonder,’’  said  the  Emperor,  taking  a  signet,  bearing 
upon  it  a  lion,  with  the  legend,  Ticit  Leo  ex  tribu  Jud<v.  “  This,’’  he  said, 


r 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


123 

“  will  give  thee  the  command  of  our  dens.  And  now,  be  candid  for  once 
with  thy  master — for  deception  is  thy  nature  even  with  me — By  what  charm 
wilt  thou  subdue  these  untamed  savages 

“  By  the  power  of  falsehood,’^  replied  Agelastes,  with  deep  reverence. 

“  I  believe  thee  an  adept  in  it,’'  said  the  Emperor.  “  And  to  which  of 
their  foibles  wilt  thou  address  it?" 

“  To  their  love  of  fame,"  said  the  philosopher ;  and  retreated  backwards 
out  of  the  royal  apartment,  as  the  officers  of  the  wardrobe  entered  to  com¬ 
plete  the  investment  of  the  Emperor  in  his  Imperial  habiliments. 


•(C|ia)ittt  tliE  /Durtiintlj. 

I  will  ox)nverse  with  iron-witted  fools. 

And  unrespentive  boys;  none  are  for  me, 

That  look  into  me  with  considerate  eyes;  — 

High-reaching  Buckingham  grows  circumspect. 

Kichard  III. 

As  they  parted  from  each  other,  the  Emperor  and  philosopher  had  each 
their  own  anxious  thoughts  on  the  interview  which  had  passed  between 
them ;  thoughts  which  they  expressed  in  broken  sentences  and  ejaculations, 
though  for  the  better  understanding  of  the  degree  of  estimation  in  which 
they  held  each  other,  we  will  give  them  a  more  •regular  and  intelligible 
form. 

“Thus,  then,"  half  muttered  half  said  Alexius,  but  so  low  as  to  hide  his 
meaning  from  the  officers  of  the  wardrobe,  who  entered  to  do  their  office, — 
“  thus,  then,  this  bookworm — this  remnant  of  old  heathen  philosophy,  who 
hardly  believes,  so  God  save  me,  the  truth  of  the  Christian  creed,  has  topp’d 
his  part  so  well  that  he  forces  his  Emperor  to  dissemble  in  his  presence. 
Beginning  by  being  the  buffoon  of  the  court,  he  has  wormed  himself  into 
all  its  secrets,  made  himself  master  of  all  its  intrigues,  conspired  with  my 
own  son-in-law  against  me,  debauched  my  guards,  —  indeed  so  woven  his 
W'eb  of  deceit,  that  my  life  is  safe  no  longer,  than  he  believes  me  the  impe¬ 
rial  dolt  which  I  have  affected  to  seem,  in  order  to  deceive  him ;  fortunate 
that  even  so  can  I  escape  his  cautionary  anticipation  of  my  displeasure,  by 
avoiding  to  precipitate  his  measures  of  violence.  But  were  this  sudden 
storm  of  the  crusade  fairly  passed  over,  the  ungrateful  Caesar,  the  boastful 
coward  Achilles  Tatius,  and  the  bosom  serpent  Agelastes,  shall  know 
whether  Alexius  Comnenus  has  been  born  their  dupe.  When  Greek  meets 
Greek,  comes  the  strife  of  subtlety,  as  well  as  the  tug  of  war."  Thus  say¬ 
ing,  he  resigned  himself  to  the  officers  of  his  wardrobe,  who  proceeded  to 
ornament  him  as  the  solemnity  required. 

“  I  trust  him  not,"  said  Agelastes,  the  meaning  of  whose  gestures  and 
exclamations,  we,  in  like  manner,  render  into  a  connected  meaning.  “  I 
cannot,  and  do  not  trust  him  —  he  somewhat  overacts  his  part,  lie  has 
borne  himself  upon  other  occasions  with  the  shrewd  wit  of  his  family  the 
Comneni ;  yet  he  now  trusts  to  the  effect  of  his  trumpery  lions  upon  such  a 
shrewd  people  as  the  Franks  and  Normans,  and  seems  to  rely  upon  me  for 
the  character  of  men  with  whom  he  has  been  engaged  in  peace  and  war  for 
many  years.  This  can  be  but  to  gain  my  confidence  ;  for  there  were  imper¬ 
fect  looks,  and  broken  sentences,  which  seemed  to  say,  ‘Agelastes,  the  Em¬ 
peror  knows  thee  and  confides  not  in  thee.’  Yet  the  plot  is  successful  and 
undiscovered,  as  far  as  can  be  judged  ;  and  were  I  to  attempt  to  recede  now, 
J  were  lost  for  ever.  A  little  time  to  carry  on  this  intrigue  with  the  Frank, 


124 


TVAVEKLEY  NOVELS. 


Avlien  possibly,  by  the  assistance  of  this  gallant,  Alexius  shall  exchange  the 
crown  for  a  cloister,  or  a  still  narrower  abode ;  and  then,  Agelastes,  thou 
dcservest  to  be  blotted  from  the  roll  of  philosophers,  if  thou  canst  not  push 
out  of  the  throne  the  conceited  and  luxurious  Caesar,  and  reign  in  his  stead, 
a  second  Marcus  Antoninus,  when  the  wisdom  of  thy  rule,  long  unfelt  in  a 
wmrld  which  has  been  guided  by  tyrants  and  voluptuaries,  shall  soon 
obliterate  recollection  of  the  manner  in  which  thy  power  was  acquired. 
To  work  then  —  be  active,  and  be  cautious.  The  time  requires  it,  and  the 
prize  deserves  it.'^ 

While  these  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind,  he  arrayed  himself,  by 
the  assistance  of  Diogenes,  in  a  clean  suit  of  that  simple  apparel  in  which 
he  always  frequented  the  court;  a  garb  as  unlike  that  of  a  candidate  for 
royalty,  as  it  was  a  contrast  to  the  magnificent  robes  with  which  Alexius 
was  now  investing  himself. 

In  their  separate  apartments,  or  dressing-rooms,  the  Count  of  Paris  and 
his  lady  put  on  the  best  apparel  which  they  had  prepared  to  meet  such  a 
chance  upon  their  journey.  Even  in  France,  Robert  was  seldom  seen  in 
the  peaceful  cap  and  sweeping  mantle,  whose  high  plumes  and  flowing  folds 
were  the  garb  of  knights  in  times  of  peace.  He  was  now  arrayed  in  a 
splendid  suit  of  armour,  all  except  the  head,  which  was  bare  otherwise  than 
as  covered  by  his  curled  locks.  The  rest  of  his  person  was  sheathed  in  the 
complete  mail  of  the  time,  richly  inlaid  with  silver,  which  contrasted  with 
the  azure  in  which  the  steel  was  damasked.  His  spurs  were  upon  his 
heels  —  his  sword  was  by  his  side,  and  his  triangular  shield  was  suspended 
round  his  neck,  bearing,  painted  upon  it,  a  number  of  jieures-de-lis  semees, 
as  it  is  called,  upon  the  field,  being  the  origin  of  those  lily  flowers  which 
after  times  reduced  to  three  only ;  and  which  were  the  terror  of  Europe, 
until  they  suflered  so  many  reverses  in  our  own  time. 

The  extreme  height  of  Count  Robert’s  person  adapted^ him  for  a  garb, 
which  had  a  tendency  to  make  persons  of  a  lower  stature  appear  rather 
dwarfish  and  thick  when  arrayed  cap-d-pie.  The  features,  with  their  self- 
collected  composure,  and  noble  contempt  of  whatever  could  have  astounded 
or  shaken  an  ordinary  mind,  formed  a  well-fitted  capital  to  the  excellently 
proportioned  and  vigorous  frame  which  they  terminated.  The  Countess 
was  in  more  peaceful  attire ;  but  her  robes  were  short  and  succinct,  like 
those  of  one  who  might  be  called  to  hasty  exercise.  The  upper  part  of  her 
dress  consisted  of  more  than  one  tunic,  sitting  close  to  the  body,  while  a 
skirt,  descending  from  the  girdle,  and  reaching  to  the  ankles,  embroidered 
elegantly  but  richly,  completed  an  attire  which  a  lady  might  have  worn  in 
much  more  modern  'times.  Her  tresses  were  covered  with  a  light  steel 
head-piece,  though  some  of  them,  escaping,  played  round  her  face,  and 
gave  relief  to  those  handsome  features  which  might  otherwise  have  seemed 
too  formal,  if  closed  entirely  within  the  verge  of  steel.  Over  these  under¬ 
garments  was  flung  a  rich  velvet  cloak  of  a  deep  green  colour,  descending 
from  the  head,  where  a  species  of  hood  was  loosely  adjusted  over  the  helmet, 
deeply  laced  upon  its  verges  and  seams,  and  so  long  as  to  sweep  the  ground 
behind.  A  dagger  of  rich  materials  ornamented  a  girdle  of  curious  gold¬ 
smith’s  work,  and  was  the  only  offensive  weapon  which,  notwithstanding 
her  military  occupation,  she  bore  upon  this  occasion. 

The  toilet — as  modern  times  would  say — of  the  Countess,  was  not  nearly 
so  soon  ended  as  that  of  Count  Robert,  who  occupied  his  time,  as  husbands 
of  every  period  are  apt  to  do,  in  little  sub-acid  complaints  between  jest  and 
earnest,  upon  the  dilatory  nature  of  ladies,  and  the  time  which  they  lose  in 
doffing  and  donning  their  garments.  But  when  the  Countess  Brenhilda 
came  forth  in  the  pride  of  loveliness,  from  the  inner  chamber  where  she 
had  attired  herself,  her  husband,  who  was  still  her  lover,  clasped  her  to  his 
breast  and  expressed  his  privilege  by  the  kiss  which  he  took  as  of  right 
from  a  creature  so  beautiful.  Chiding  him  for  his  folly,  yet  almost  return- 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARTS.  125 

ing  the  kiss  which  she  received,  Brenhilda  began  now  to  wonder  how  they 
were  to  find  their  way  to  the  presence  of  the  Emperor. 

The  query  was  soon  solved,  for  a  gentle  knock  at  the  door  announced 
Agelastes,  to  whom,  as  best  acquainted  with  the  Frankish  manners,  had 
been  committed,  by  the  Emperor,  the  charge  of  introducing  the  noble 
strangers.  A  distant  sound,  like  that  of  the  roaring  of  a  lion,  or  not  un- 
similar  to  a  large  and  deep  gong  of  modern  times,  intimated  the  commence¬ 
ment  of  the  ceremonial.  The  black  slaves  upon  guard,  who,  as  hath  been 
observed,  were  in  small  numbers,  stood  ranged  in  their  state  dresses  of 
white  and  gold,  bearing  in  one  hand  a  naked  sabre,  and  in  the  other  a 
torch  of  white  wax,  which  served  to  guide  the  Count  and  Countess  through 
the  passages  that  led  to  the  interior  of  the  palace,  and  to  the  most  secret 
hall  of  audience. 

The  door  of  this  sanctum  sanctorum  was  lower  than  usual,  a  simple 
stratagem  devised  by  some  superstitious  ofl&cer  of  the  Imperial  household, 
to  compel  the  lofty-crested  Frank  to  lower  his  body,  as  he  presented  him¬ 
self  in  the  Imperial  presence.  Robert,  when  the  door  flew  open,  and  he 
discovered  in  the  background  the  Emperor  seated  upon  his  throne  amidst  a 
glare  of  light,  which  was  broken  and  reflected  in  ten  thousand  folds  by  the 
jewels  with  which  his  vestments  were  covered,  stopt  short,  and  demanded 
the  meaning  of  introducing  him  through  so  low  an  arch  ?  Agelastes  pointed 
to  the  Emperor  by  way  of  shifting  from  himself  a  question  which  he  could 
not  have  answered.  The  mute,  to  apologize  for  his  silence,  yawned,  and 
showed  the  loss  of  his  tongue. 

“  Holy  Virgin  V’  said  the  Countess,  “  what  can  these  unhappy  Africans 
have  done,  to  have  deserved  a  condemnation  which  involves  so  cruel  a 
fate 

“  The  hour  of  retribution  is  perhaps  come,’^  said  the  Count,  in  a  displeased 
tone,  while  Agelastes,  with  such  hurry  as  time  and  place  permitted,  entered, 
making  his  prostrations  and  genuflexions,  little  doubting  that  the  Frank 
must  follow  him,  and  to  do  so  must  lower  his  body  to  the  Emperor.  The 
Count,  however,  in  the  height  of  displeasure  at  the  trick  which  he  conceived 
had  been  intended  him,  turned  himself  round,  and  entered  the  presence- 
chamber  with  his  back  purposely  turned  to  the  sovereign,  and  did  not  face 
Alexius  until  he  reached  the  middle  of  the  apartment,  whei\  he  was  joined 
by  the  Countess,  who  had  made  her  approach  in  a  more  seemly  manner. 
The  Emperor,  who  had  prepared  to  acknowledge  the  Count’s  expected 
homage  in  the  most  gracious  manner,  found  himself  now  even  more  unplea¬ 
santly  circumstanced  than  when  this  uncompromising  Frank  had  usurped 
the  royal  throne  in  the  course  of  the  day. 

The  officers  and  nobles  who  stood  around,  though  a  very  select  number, 
were  more  numerous  than  usual,  as  the  meeting  was  not  held  for  counsel, 
but  merely  for  state.  These  assumed  such  an  appearance  of  mingled  dis¬ 
pleasure  and  confusion  as  might  best  suit  with  the  perplexity  of  Alexius, 
while  the  wily  features  of  the  Norman-Italian,  Bohemond  of  Tarentum,  who 
was  also  present,  had  a  singular  mixture  of  fantastical  glee  and  derision. 
It  is  the  misfortune  of  the  weaker  on  such  occasions,  or  at  least  the  more 
timid,  to  be  obliged  to  take  the  petty  part  of  winking  hard,  as  if  not  able 
to  see  what  they  cannot  avenge. 

Alexius  made  the  signal  that  the  ceremonial  of  the  grand  reception  should 
immediately  commence.  Instantly  the  lions  of  Solomon,  which  had  been 
newly  furbished,  raised  their  heads,  erected  their  manes,  brandished  their 
tails,  until  they  excited  the  imagination  of  Count  Robert,  who,  being  already 
on  fire  at  the  circumstances  of  his  reception,  conceived  the  bellowing  of 
these  automata  to  be  the  actual  annunciation  of  immediate  assault.  Whe¬ 
ther  the  lions,  whose  forms  he  beheld,  were  actually  lords  of  the  forest, — 
whether  they  were  mortals  who  had  suffered  transformation, — whether  they 
w’ere  productions  of  the  skill  of  an  artful  juggler  or  profound  naturalist,  the 

l2 


126 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


Count  neither  knew  nor  cared.  All  that  he  thought  of  the  danger  was,  that 
ic  was  worthy  of  his  courage;  nor  did  his  heart  permit  him  a  moment's 
irresolution.  He  strode  to  the  nearest  lion,  which  seemed  in  the  act  of 
springing  up,  and  said,  in  a  tone  loud  and  formidable  as  its  own,  “  How 
now,  dog !"  At  the  same  time  he  struck  the  figure  with  his  clenched  fist 
and  steel  gauntlet  with  so  much  force,  that  its  head  burst,  and  the  steps 
and  carpet  of  the  throne  were  covered  with  wheels,  springs,  and  other 
machinery,  which  had  been  the  means  of  producing  its  mimic  terrors. 

On  this  display  of  the  real  nature  of  the  cause  of  his  anger.  Count 
Robert  could  not  but  feci  a  little  ashamed  of  having  given  way  to  passion 
on  such  an  occasion.  He  was  still  more  confused  when  Bohemond,  de¬ 
scending  from  his  station  near  the  Emperor,  addressed  him  in  the  Frank 
language  ; — “  You  have  done  a  gallant  deed,  truly.  Count  Robert,  in  freeing 
the  court  of  Byzantium  from  an  object  of  fear  which  has  long  been  used  to 
frighten  peevish  children  and  unruly  barbarians !" 

Enthusiasm  has  no  greater  enemy  than  ridicule.  “Why,  then,"  said 
Count  Robert,  blushing  deeply  at  the  same  time,  “did  they  exhibit  its  fan¬ 
tastic  terrors  to  me  ?  I  am  neither  child  nor  barbarian." 

“  Address  yourself  to  the  Emperor,  then,  as  an  intelligent  man,"  answered 
Bohemond.  “  Say  something  to  him  in  excuse  of  your  conduct,  and  show 
that  our  bravery  has  not  entirely  run  away  with  our  common  sense.  And 
hark  you  also,  while  I  have  a  moment's  speech  of  you,  —  do  you  and  your 
wife  iieedfully  follow  my  example  at  supper !"  These  words  were  spoken 
with  a  significant  tone  and  corresponding  look. 

The  opinion  of  Bohemond,  from  his  long  intercourse,  both  in  peace  and 
war,  with  the  Grecian  Emperor,  gave  him  great  influence  with  the  other 
crusaders,  and  Count  Robert  yielded  to  his  advice.  He  turned  towards  the 
Emperor  with  something  liker  an  obeisance  than  he  had  hitherto  paid.  “I 
(jrave  your  pardon,"  he  said,  “for  breaking  that  gilded  piece  of  pageantry; 
but,  in  sooth,  the  wonders  of  sorcery,  and  the  portents  of  accomplished  and 
skilful  jugglers,  are  so  numerous  in  this  country,  that  one  does  not  clearly 
distinguish  what  is  true  from  what  is  false,  or  what  is  real  from  what  is 
illusory." 

The  Emperor,  notwithstanding  the  presence  of  mind  for  which  he  was 
remarkable,  and  the  courage  in  which  he  was  not  held  by  his  countrymen 
to  be  deficient,  received  this  apology  somewhat  awkwardly.  Perhaps  the 
rueful  complaisance  with  which  he  accepted  the  Count's  apology,  might  be 
best  compared  to  that  of  a  lady  of  the  present  day  when  an  awkward  guest 
has  broken  a  valuable  piece  of  china.  He  muttered  something  about  the 
machines  having  been  long  preserved  in  the  Imperial  family,  as  being 
made  on  the  model  of  those  which  guarded  the  throne  of  the  wise  King  of 
Israel ;  to  which  the  blunt  plain-spoken  Count  expressed  his  doubt  in 
reply,  whether  the  wisest  prince  in  the  world  ever  condescended  to  frighten 
his  subjects  or  guests  by  the  mimic  roarings  of  a  wooden  lion.  “If,"  said 
he,  “  I  too  hastily  took  it  for  a  living  creature,  I  have  had  the  worst,  by 
damaging  my  excellent  gauntlet  in  dashing  to  pieces  its  timber  skull." 

The  Emperor,  after  a  little  more  had  been  said,  chiefly  on  the  same  sub¬ 
ject,  proposed  that  they  should  pass  to  the  banquet-room.  Marshalled, 
accordingly,  by  the  grand  sewer  of  the  Imperial  table,  and  attended  by  all 
present,  excepting  the  Emperor  and  the  immediate  members  of  his  family, 
the  Frankish  guests  were  guided  through  a  labyrinth  of  apartments,  each 
of  which  was  filled  with  wonders  of  nature  and  art,  calculated  to  enhance 
their  opinion  of  the  wealth  and  grandeur  which  had  assembled  together  so 
much  that  was  wonderful.  Their  passage  being  necessarily  slow  and  inter¬ 
rupted,  gave  the  Emperor  time  to  change  his  dress,  according  to  the  ritual 
of  his  court,  which  did  not  permit  his  appearing  twice  in  the  same  vesture 
before  the  same  spectators.  He  took  the  opportunity  to  summon  Agelastes 
into  his  presence,  and,  that  their  conference  might  be  secret,  ho  used,  in 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS.  1‘27 

assisting  his  toilet,  the  agency  of  some  of  the  mutes  destined  for  the  service 
of  the  interior. 

The  temper  of  Alexius  Comnenus  was  considerably  moved,  although  it 
was  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  his  situation  to  be  ever  under  the  necessity 
of  disguising  the  emotions  of  his  mind,  and  of  affecting,  in  presence  of  his 
subjects,  a  superiority  to  human  passion,  which  he  was  far  from  feeling. 
It  was  therefore  with  gravity,  and  even  reprehension,  that  he  asked,  “  By 
whose  error  it  was  that  the  wily  Bohemond,  half-Italian,  and  half-Norman, 
was  present  at  this  interview?  Surely,  if  there  be  one  in  the  crusading 
army  likely  to  conduct  that  foolish  youth  and  his  wife  behind  the  scenes 
of  the  exhibition  by  which  we  hoped  to  impose  upon  them,  the  Count  of 
Tarentum,  as  he  entitles  himself,  is  that  person.’^ 

“It  was  that  old  man,"  said  Agelastes,  “(if  I  may  reply  and  live,) 
Michael  Cantacuzene,  who  deemed  that  his  presence  was  peculiarly  desired; 
but  he  returns  to  the  camp  this  very  night." 

“  Yes,"  said  Alexius,  “  to  inform  Godfrey,  and  the  rest  of  the  crusaders, 
that  one  of  the  boldest  and  most  highly  esteemed  of  their  number  is  left, 
with  his  wife,  a  hostage  in  our  Imperial  city,  and  to  bring  back,  perhaps,  an 
alternative  of  instant  war,  unless  they  are  delivered  up !" 

“  If  it  is  your  Imperial  Highness’s  will  to  think  so,"  said  Agelastes,  “you 
can  suffer  Count  Kobert  and  his  wife  to  return  to  the  camp  with  the  Italian- 
Norman." 

“  What?"  answered  the  Emperor,  “  and  so  lose  all  the  fruits  af  an  enter¬ 
prise,  the  preparations  for  which  have  already  cost  us  so  much  in  actual 
expense ;  and,  were  our  heart  made  of  the  same  stuff  with  that  of  ordinary 
mortals,  would  have  cost  us  so  much  more  in  vexation  and  anxiety?  No, 
no  ;  issue  warning  to  the  crusaders,  who  are  still  on  the  hither  side,  that 
farther  rendering  of  homage  is  dispensed  with,  and  that  they  repair  to  the 
quays  on  the  banks  of  the  Bosphorus,  by  peep  of  light  to-morrow.  Let  our 
admiral,  as  he  values  his  head,  pass  every  man  of  them  over  to  the  farther 
side  before  noon.  Let  there  be  largesses,  a  princely  banquet  on  the  farther 
bank  —  all  that  may  increase  their  anxiety  to  pass.  Then,  Agelastes,  we 
will  trust  to  ourselves  to  meet  this  additional  danger,  either  by  bribing  the 
venality  of  Bohemond,  or  by  bidding  defiance  to  the  crusaders.  Their 
forces  are  scattered,  and  the  chief  of  them,  with  the  leaders  themselves,  are 
all  now — or  by  far  the  greater  part  —  on  the  east  side  of  the  Bosphorus. — 
And  now  to  the  banquet!  seeing  that  the  change  of  dress  has  been  made 
sufficient  to  answer  the  statutes  of  the  household  ;  since  our  ancestors  chose 
to  make  rules  for  exhibiting  us  to  our  subjects,  as  priests  exhibit  their 
images  at  their  shrines  !" 

“  Under  grant  of  life,"  said  Agelastes,  “it  was  not  done  inconsiderately, 
but  in  order  that  the  Emperor,  ruled  ever  by  the  same  laws  from  father  to 
son,  might  ever  be  regarded  as  something  beyond  the  common  laws  of  hu¬ 
manity — the  divine  image  of  a  saint,  therefore,  rather  than  a  human  being." 

“We  know  it,  good  Agelastes,"  answered  the  Emperor,  with  a  smile, 
“  and  we  are  also  aware,  that  many  of  our  subjects,  like  the  worshippers 
of  Bel  in  holy  writ,  treat  us  so  far  as  an  image,  as  to  assist  us  in  devouring 
the  revenues  of  our  provinces,  which  are  gathered  in  our  name,  and  for  our 
use.  These  things  we  now  only  touch  lightly,  the  time  not  suiting  them." 

Alexius  left  the  secret  council  accordingly,  after  the  order  for  the  passage 
of  the  crusaders  had  been  written  out  and  subscribed  in  due  form,  and  in 
the  sacred  ink  of  the  Imperial  chancery. 

Meantime,  the  rest  of  the  company  had  arrived  in  a  hall,  which,  like  the 
other  apartments  in  the  palace,  was  most  tastefully  as  well  as  gorgeously 
fitted  up,  except  that  a  table,  which  presented  a  princely  banquet,  might 
have  been  deemed  faulty  in  this  respect,  that  the  dishes,  which  were  most 
splendid,  both  in  the  materials  of  which  they  were  composed,  and  in  the 
viands  which  they  held,  \A*ere  elevated  by  means  of  feet,  so  as  to  be  upon  a 


128 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


level  witli  female  guests  as  they  sat,  and  with  men  as  they  lay  recumbent  at 
the  banquet  which  it  offered. 

Around  stood  a  number  of  black  slaves  richly  attired,  while  the  grand 
sewer,  Michael  Cantazucene,  arranged  the  strangers  with  his  golden  wand, 
and  conveyed  orders  to  them,  by  signs,  that  all  should  remain  standing 
around  the  table,  until  a  signal  should  be  given.  • 

The  upper  end  of  the  board,  thus  furnished,  and  thus  surrounded,  was 
hidden  by  a  curtain  of  muslin  and  silver,  which  fell  from  the  top  of  the 
arch  under  which  the  upper  part  seemed  to  pass.  On  this  curtain  the  sewer 
kept  a  wary  eye ;  and  when  he  observed  it  slightly  shake,  he  waved  his 
wand  of  office,  and  all  expected  the  result. 

As  if  self-moved,  the  mystic  curtain  arose,  and  discovered  behind  it  a 
throne  eight  steps  higher  than  the  end  of  the  table,  decorated  in  the  most 
magnificent  manner,  and  having  placed  before  it  a  small  table  of  ivory  inlaid 
with  silver,  behind  which  was  seated  Alexius  Comnenus,  in  a  dress  entirely 
different  from  what  he  had  worn  in  the  course  of  the  day,  and  so  much  more 
gorgeous  than  his  former  vestments,  that  it  seemed  not  unnatural  that  his 
subjects  should  prostrate  themselves  before  a  figure  so  splendid.  His  wife, 
his  daughter,  and  his  son-in-law  the  Caesar,  stood  behind  him  with  faces 
bent  to  the  ground,  and  it  was  with  deep  humility,  that,  descending  from 
the  throne  at  the  Emperor’s  command,  they  mingled  with  the  guests  of  the 
lower  table,  and,  exalted  as  they  were,  proceeded  to  the  festive  board  at 
the  signal  of  the  grand  sewer.  So  that  they  could  not  be  said  to  partake 
of  the  repast  with  the  Emperor,  nor  to  be  placed  at  the  Imperial  table,  al¬ 
though  they  supped  in  his  presence,  and  were  encouraged  by  his  repeated 
request  to  them  to  make  good  cheer.  No  dishes  presented  at  the  lower  table 
were  offered  at  the  higher ;  but  wines,  and  more  delicate  sorts  of  food,  which 
arose  before  the  Emperor  as  if  by  magic,  and  seemed  designed  for  his  own 
proper  use,  were  repeatedly  sent,  by  his  special  directions,  to  one  or  other 
of  the  guests  whom  Alexius  delighted  to  honour  —  among  these  the  Franks 
being  particularly  distinguished. 

The  behaviour  of  Bohemond  was  on  this  occasion  particularly  remark¬ 
able. 

Count  Robert,  who  kept  an  eye  upon  him,  both  from  his  recent  words, 
and  owing  to  an  expressive  look  which  he  once  or  twice  darted  towards  him, 
observed,  that  in  no  liquors  or  food,  not  even  those  sent  from  the  Emperor’s 
own  table,  did  this  astucious  prince  choose  to  indulge.  A  piece  of  bread, 
taken  from  the  canister  at  random,  and  a  glass  of  pure  water,  was  the  only 
refreshment  of  which  he  was  pleased  to  partake.  His  alleged  excuse  was, 
the  veneration  due  to  the  Holy  Festival  of  the  Advent,  which  chanced  to 
occur  that  very  night,  and  which  both  the  Greek  and  Latin  rule  agree  to 
hold  sacred. 

“  I  had  not  expected  this  of  you.  Sir  Bohemond,”  said  the  Emperor,  “  that 
you  should  have  refused  my  personal  hospitality  at  my  own  board,  on  the 
very  day  on  which  you  honoured  me  by  entering  into  my  service  as  vassal 
for  the  principality  of  Antioch.” 

“  Antioch  is  not  yet  conquered,”  said  Sir  Bohemond  ;  “  and  conscience, 
dread  sovereign,  must  always  have  its  exceptions,  in  whatever  temporal  con¬ 
tracts  we  may  engage.” 

“  Come,  gentle  Count,”  said  the  Emperor,  who  obviously  regarded  Bohe- 
mond’s  inhospitable  humour  as  something  arising  more  from  suspicion  than 
devotion,  “  we  invite,  though  it  is  not  our  custom,  our  children,  our  noble 
guests,  and  our  principal  officers  here  present,  to  a  general  carouse.  Fill 
the  cups  called  the  Nine  Muses !  let  them  be  brimful  of  the  wine  which  is 
said  to  be  sacred  to  the  Imperial  lips !” 

At  the  Emperor’s  command  the  cups  were  filled  ;  they  were  of  pure  gold, 
and  there  was  richly  engraved  upon  each  the  effigy  of  the  Muse  to  whom 
it  was  dedicated. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  P  A  R I  8  . 


129 


“You  at  least,”  said  the  Emperor,  “my  gentle  Count  Robert,  you  and 
your  lovely  lady,  ■will  not  have  any  scruple  to  pledge  your  Imperial  host?” 

“  If  that  scruple  is  to  imply  suspicion  of  the  provisions  with  which  we 
are  here  served,  I  disdain  to  nourish  such,”  said  Count  Robert.  “  If  it  is 
a  sin  which  I  commit  by  tasting  wine  to-night,  it  is  a  venial  one ;  nor  shall 
I  greatly  augment  my  load  by  carrying  it,  with  the  rest  of  my  trespasses, 
to  the  next  confessional.” 

“  Will  you  then.  Prince  Bohemond,  not  be  ruled  by  the  conduct  of  your 
friend  ?”  said  the  Emperor. 

“  Methinks,”  replied  the  Norman-Italian,  “  my  friend  might  have  done 
better  to  have  been  ruled  by  mine ;  but  be  it  as  his  wisdom  pleases.  The 
flavour  of  such  exquisite  wine  is  sufficient  for  me.” 

“  So  saying,  he  emptied  the  wine  into  another  goblet,  and  seemed  alter¬ 
nately  to  admire  the  carving  of  the  cup,  and  the  flavour  of  what  it  had 
lately  contained. 

“You  are  right.  Sir  Bohemond,”  said  the  Emperor;  “the  fabric  of  that 
cup  is  beautiful ;  it  was  done  by  one  of  the  ancient  gravers  of  Greece.  The 
boasted  cup  of  Nestor,  which  Ilomer  has  handed  down  to  us,  was  a  good 
deal  larger  perhaps,  but  neither  equalled  these  in  the  value  of  the  material, 
nor  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  workmanship.  Let  each  one,  therefore,  of 
my  stranger  guests,  accept  of  the  cup  which  he  either  has  or  might  have 
drunk  out  of,  as  a  recollection  of  me ;  and  may  the  expedition  against  the 
infidels  be  as  propitious  as  their  confidence  and  courage  deserve !” 

“  If  I  accept  your  gift,  mighty  Emperor,”  said  Bohemond,  “  it  is  only  to 
atone  for  the  apparent  discourtesy,  when  my  devotion  compels  me  to  decline 
your  Imperial  pledge,  and  to  show  you  that  we  part  on  the  most  intimate 
terms  of  friendship.” 

So  saying,  he  bowed  deeply  to  the  Emperor,  wLo  answered  him  with  a 
smile,  into  which  was  thrown  a  considerable  portion  of  sarcastic  expression. 

“  And  I,”  said  the  Count  of  Paris,  “  having  taken  upon  my  conscience 
the  fault  of  meeting  your  Imperial  pledge,  may  stand  excused  from  in¬ 
curring  the  blame  of  aiding  to  dismantle  your  table  of  these  curious  drink¬ 
ing  cups.  We  empty  them  to  your  health,  and  we  cannot  in  any  other 
respect  profit  by  them.” 

“  But  Prince  Bohemond  can,”  said  the  Emperor ;  “  to  whose  quarters 
they  shall  be  carried,  sanctioned  by  your  generous  use.  And  we  have  still 
a  set  for  you,  and  for  your  lovely  Countess,  equal  to  that  of  the  Graces, 
though  no  longer  matching  in  number  the  nymphs  of  Parnassus. — The  eve¬ 
ning  bell  rings,  and  calls  us  to  remember  the  hour  of  rest,  that  we  may  be 
ready  to  meet  the  labours  of  to-morrow.” 

The  party  then  broke  up  for  the  evening.  Bohemond  left  the  palace  that 
night,  not  forgetting  the  Muses,  of  whom  he  was  not  in  general  a  devotee. 
The  result  was,  as  the  wily  Greek  had  intended,  that  he  had  established  be¬ 
tween  Bohemond  and  the  Count,  not  indeed  a  quarrel,  but  a  kind  of  dif¬ 
ference  of  opinion ;  Bohemond  feeling  that  the  fiery  Count  of  Paris  must 
think  his  conduct  sordid  and  avaricious,  while  Count  Robert  was  far  less 
inclined  than  before  to  rely  on  him  as  a  counsellor. 


Yol.  XII.  — 9 


130 


W  AVER  LEY  NOVELS. 


(Cjinptn  /iftniitjj. 

The  Count  of  Paris  and  his  lady  were  that  night  lodged  in  the  Imperial 
Palace  of  the  Blacquernal.  Their  apartments  were  contiguous,  but  the 
communication  between  them  was  cut  off  for  the  night  by  the  mutual  door 
being  locked  and  barred.  They  marvelled  somewhat  at  this  precaution. 
The  observance,  however,  of  the  festival  of  the  Church,  was  pleaded  as  an 
admissible,  and  not  unnatural  excuse  for  this  extraordinary  circumstance. 
Neither  the  Count  nor  his  lady  entertained,  it  may  be  believed,  the  slightest 
personal  fear  for  any  thing  which  could  happen  to  them.  Their  attendants, 
Marcian  and  Agatha,  having  assisted  their  master  and  mistress  in  the  per¬ 
formance  of  their  usual  offices,  left  them,  in  order  to  seek  the  places  of 
repose  assigned  to  them  among  persons  of  their  degree. 

The  preceding  day  had  been  one  of  excitation,  and  of  much  bustle  and 
interest ;  perhaps,  also,  the  wine,  sacred  to  the  Imperial  lips,  of  which  Count 
Robert  had  taken  a  single,  indeed,  but  a  deep  draught,  was  more  potent 
than  the  delicate  and  high-flavoured  juice  of  the  Gascogne  grape,  to  which 
he  was  accustomed ;  at  any  rate,  it  seemed  to  him  that,  from  the  time  he 
felt  that  he  had  slept,  daylight  ought  to  have  been  broad  in  his  chamber 
when  he  awaked,  and  yet  it  was  still  darkness  almost  palpable.  Somewhat 
surprised,  he  gazed  eagerly  around,  but  could  discern  nothing,  except  two 
balls  of  red  light  which  shone  from  among  the  darkness  with  a  self-emitted 
brilliancy,  like  the  eyes  of  a  wild  animal  while  it  glares  upon  its  prey. 
The  Count  started  from  bed  to  put  on  his  armour,  a  necessary  precaution  if 
what  he  saw  should  really  be  a  wild  creature  and  at  liberty  ;  but  the  instant 
he  stirred,  a  deep  growl  was  uttered,  such  as  the  Count  had  never  heard, 
but  which  might  be  compared  to  the  sound  of  a  thousand  monsters  at  once; 
and,  as  the  symphony,  was  heard  the  clash  of  iron  chains,  and  the  springing 
of  a  monstrous  creature  towards  the  bedside,  which  appeared,  however,  to 
be  withheld  by  some  fastening  from  attaining  the  end  of  its  bound.  The 
roars  which  it  uttered  now  ran  thick  on  each  other.  They  were  most  tre¬ 
mendous,  and  must  have  been  heard  throughout  the  Mffiole  palace.  The 
creature  seemed  to  gather  itself  many  yards  nearer  to  the  bed  than  by  its 
glaring  eyeballs  it  appeared  at  first  to  be  stationed,  and  how  much  nearer, 
or  what  degree  of  motion,  might  place  him  within  the  monster's  reach,  the 
Count  was  totally  uncertain.  Its  breathing  was  even  heard,  and  Count 
Robert  thought  he  felt  the  heat  of  its  respiration,  while  his  defenceless  limbs 
might  not  be  two  yards  distant  from  the  fangs  which  he  heard  grinding 
against  each  other,  and  the  claws  which  tore  up  fragments  of  wood  from  the 
oaken  floor.  The  Count  of  Paris  was  one  of  the  bravest  men  who  lived  in 
a  time  when  bravery  was  the  universal  property  of  all  who  claimed  a  drop 
of  noble  blood,  and  the  knight  was  a  descendant  of  Charlemagne.  lie 
was,  however,  a  man,  and  therefore  cannot  be  said  to  have  endured  un ap¬ 
palled  a  sense  of  danger  so  unexpected  and  so  extraordinary.  But  his  was 
not  a  sudden  alarm  or  panic,  it  was  a  calm  sense  of  extreme  peril,  qualified 
by  a  resolution  to  exert  his  faculties  to  the  uttermost,  to  save  his  life  if  it 
were  possible.  He  withdrew  himself  within  the  bed,  no  longer  a  place  of 
rest,  being  thus  a  few  feet  further  from  the  two  glaring  eyeballs  which 
remained  so  closely  fixed  upon  him,  that,  in  spite  of  his  courage,  nature 
painfully  suggested  the  bitter  imagination  of  his  limbs  being  mangled,  torn, 
and  churned  with  their  life-blood,  in  the  jaws  of  some  monstrous  beast  of 
prey.  One  saving  thought  alone  presented  itself — this  might  be  a  trial,  an 
experiment  of  the  philosopher  Agelastes,  or  of  the  Emperor  his  master,  for 
the  purpose  of  proving  the  courage  of  which  the  Cnristians  vaunted  so 
highly,  and  punishing  the  thoughtless  insult  which  the  Count  had  been 
unadvised  enough  to  put  upon  the  Emperor  the  preceding  day. 


COUNT  K  U  U  K  K  T  OF  PARIS.  1  I 

“Well  is  it  said/’  he  reflected  in  his  agony,  “beard  not  the  lion  in  his 
den  !  Perhaps  even  now  some  base  slave  deliberates  whether  I  have  yet 
tasted  enough  of  the  preliminary  agonies  of  death,  and  whether  he  shall 
yet  slip  the  chain  which  keeps  the  savage  from  doing  his  work.  But  come 
death  when  it  will,  it  shall  never  be  said  that  Count  Robert  was  heard  to 
receive  it  with  prayers  for  compassion,  or  with  cries  of  pain  or  terror,”  lie 
turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  and  waited,  with  a  strong  mental  exertion,  the 
death  which  he  conceived  to  be  fast  approaching. 

llis  first  feelings  had  been  unavoidably  of  a  selfish  nature.  The  danger 
was  too  instant,  and  of  a  description  too  horrible,  to  admit  of  any  which 
involved  a  more  comprehensive  view  of  his  calamity ;  and  other  reflections 
of  a  more  distant  kind,  were  at  first  swallowed  up  in  the  all-engrossing 
thought  of  immediate  death.  But  as  his  ideas  became  clearer,  the  safety 
of  his  Countess  rushed  upon  his  mind  —  what  might  she  now  be  sufiering! 
and,  while  he  was  subjected  to  a  trial  so  extraordinary,  for  what  were  her 
weaker  frame  and  female  courage  reserved?  Was  she  still  within  a  few 
yards  of  him,  as  when  he  lay  down  the  last  night?  or  had  the  barbarians, 
who  had  devised  for  him  a  scene  so  cruel,  availed  themselves  of  his  and  his 
lady’s  incautious  confidence  to  inflict  upon  her  some  villany  of  the  same 
kind,  or  even  yet  more  perfidious?  Did  she  sleep  or  wake,  or  could  she 
sleep  within  the  close  hearing  of  that  horrible  cry,  which  shook  all  around? 
lie  resolved  to  utter  her  name,  warning  her,  if  possible,  to  be  upon  her 
guard,  and  to  answer  without  venturing  rashly  into  the  apartment  which 
contained  a  guest  so  horribly  perilous. 

He  uttered,  therefore,  his  wife’s  name,  but  in  trembling  accents,  as  if  he 
liad  been  afraid  of  the  savage  beast  overhearing  him. 

“Brenhilda!  Brenhilda! — there  is  danger — awake,  and  speak  to  me,  but 
do  not  arise.”  There  was  no  answer.  —  “What  am  I  become,”  he  said  to 
himself,  “  that  I  call  upon  Brenhilda  of  Aspramonte,  like  a  child  on  its 
sleeping  nurse,  and  all  because  there  is  a  wild-cat  in  the  same  room  with 
me?  Shame  on  thee.  Count  of  Paris !  Let  thy  arms  be  rent,  and  thy  spurs 
be  hacked  from  thy  heels !  — What  ho !”  he  cried  aloud,  but  still  with  a 
tremulous  voice,  “Brenhilda,  we  are  beset,  the  foe  are  upon  us! — Answer 
me,  but  stir  not.” 

A  deep  growl  from  the  monster  which  garrisoned  his  apartment  was  the 
only  answer.  The  sound  seemed  to  say,  “  Thou  hast  no  hope  !”  and  it  ran 
to  the  knight’s  bosom  as  the  genuine  expression  of  despair. 

“  Perhaps,  however,  I  am  still  too  cold  in  making  my  misery  known. 

'  What  ho  !  my  love  !  Brenhilda !” 

A  voice,  hollow  and  disconsolate  as  that  which  might  have  served  an 
inhabitant  of  the  grave,  answered  as  if  from  a  distance.  “  What  discon¬ 
solate  wretch  art  thou,  who  expectest  that  the  living  can  answer  thee  from 
the  habitations  of  the  dead?” 

“I  am  a  Christian  man,  a  free  noble  of  the  kingdom  of  France,”  an¬ 
swered  the  Count.  “  Yesterday  the  captain  of  five  hundred  men,  the  bravest 
in  France  —  the  bravest,  that  is,  who  breathe  mortal  air  —  and  I  am  here 
without  a  glimpse  of  light,  to  direct  me  how  to  avoid  the  corner  in  which 
lies  a  wild  tiger-cat,  prompt  to  spring  upon  and  to  devour  me.” 

“  Thou  art  an  example,”  replied  the  voice,  “  and  wilt  not  long  be  the 
last,  of  the  changes  of  fortune.  I,  who  am  now  sufiering  in  my  third  year, 
was  that  mighty  Ursel,  who  rivalled  Alexius  Comnenus  for  the  Crown  of 
Greece,  was  betrayed  by  my  confederates,  and  being  deprived  of  that  eye¬ 
sight  which  is  the  chief  blessing  of  humanity,  I  inhabit  these  vaults,  no 
distant  neighbour  of  the  wild  animals  by  whom  they  are  sometimes  occupied, 
and  whose  cries  of  joy  I  hear  when  unfortunate  victims  like  thyself  are 
delivered  up  to  their  fury.” 

“  Didst  thou  not  then  hear,”  said  Count  Robert,  in  return,  “  a  warlike 
guest  and  his  bride  conducted  hither  last  night,  with  sounds  as  it  might 


132  WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 

seem  of  bridal  music? — 0,  Brenhilda!  hast  thou,  so  young — so  beautiful — 
been  so  treacherously  done  to  death  by  means  so  unutterably  horrible 

“  Think  not,’^  answered  Ursel,  as  the  voice  had  called  its  owner,  “  that 
the  Greeks  pamper  their  wild  beasts  on  such  lordly  fare.  For  their  enemies, 
which  term  includes  not  only  all  that  are  really  such,  but  all  those  whom 
they  fear  or  hate,  they  have  dungeons  whose  locks  never  revolve  ;  hot 
instruments  of  steel,  to  sear  the  eyeballs  in  the  head  ;  lions  and  tigers,  when 
it  pleases  them  to  make  a  speedy  end  of  their  captives — but  these  are  only 
for  the  male  prisoners.  While  for  the  women — if  they  be  young  and  beau¬ 
tiful,  the  princes  of  the  land  have  places  in  their  bed  and  bower ;  nor  are 
they  employed  like  the  captives  of  Agamemnon’s  host,  to  draw  water  from 
an  Argive  spring,  but  are  admired  and  adored  by  those  whom  fate  has  made 
the  lords  of  their  destiny.” 

“  Such  shall  never  be  the  doom  of  Brenhilda !”  exclaimed  Count  Robert ; 

“  her  husband  still  lives  to  assist  her,  and  should  he  die,  she  knows  well 
how  to  follow  him  without  leaving  a  blot  in  the  epitaph  of  either.” 

The  captive  did  not  immediately  reply,  and  a  short  pause  ensued,  which 
was  broken  by  UrseFs  voice.  “  Stranger,”  he  said,  “  what  noise  is  that  I 
hear  ?” 

“  Nay,  I  hear  nothing,”  said  Count  Robert. 

“  But  I  do,”  said  Ursel.  “  The  cruel  deprivation  of  my  eyesight  renders 
my  other  senses  more  acute.” 

“  Disquiet  not  thyself  about  the  matter,  fellow-prisoner,”  answered  the 
Count,  “  but  wait  the  event  in  silence.” 

Suddenly  a  light  arose  in  the  apartment,  lurid,  red,  and  smoky.  The 
knight  had  bethought  him  of  a  flint  and  match  which  he  usually  carried 
about  him,  and  with  as  little  noise  as  possible  had  lighted  the  torch  by  the 
bedside ;  this  he  instantly  applied  to  the  curtains  of  the  bed,  which,  being 
of  thin  muslin,  were  in  a  moment  in  flames.  The  knight  sprung,  at  the 
same  instant,  from  his  bed.  The  tiger,  for  such  it  was,  terrified  at  the  flame, 
leaped  backwards  as  far  as  his  chain  would  permit,  heedless  of  any  thing 
save  this  new  object  of  terror.  Count  Robert  upon  this  seized  on  a  massive 
wooden  stool,  which  was  the  only  offensive  weapon  on  which  he  could  lay 
his  hand,  and,  marking  at  those  eyes  which  now  reflected  the  blaze  of  fire, 
and  which  had  recently  seemed  so  appalling,  he  discharged  against  them 
this  fragment  of  ponderous  oak,  with  a  force  which  less  resembled  human 
strength  than  the  impetus  with  which  an  engine  hurls  a  stone.  lie  had 
employed  his  instant  of  time  so  well,  and  his  aim  was  so  true,  that  the 
missile  went  right  to  the  mark  and  Avith  incredible  force.  The  skull  of  the 
tiger,  which  might  be,  perhaps,  somewhat  exaggerated  if  described  as  being 
of  the  very  largest  size,  was  fractured  by  the  blow,  and  with  the  assistance 
of  his  dagger,  which  had  fortunately  been  left  with  him,  the  French  Count 
despatched  the  monster,  and  had  the  satisfliction  to  see  him  grin  his  last, 
and  roll,  in  the  agony  of  death,  those  eyes  which  were  lately  so  formidable. 

Looking  around  him,  he  discovered,  by  the  light  of  the  fire  which  he  had 
raised,  that  the  apartment  in  which  he  now  lay  was  different  from  that  in 
which  he  had  gone  to  bed  overnight ;  nor  could  there  be  a  stronger  contrast 
between  the  furniture  of  both,  than  the  flickering  half-burnt  remains  of 
the  thin  muslin  curtains,  and  the  strong,  bare,  dungeon-looking  walls  of  the 
room  itself,  or  the  very  serviceable  wooden  stool,  of  which  he  had  made 
such  good  use. 

The  knight  had  no  leisure  to  form  conclusions  upon  such  a  subject.  lie  • 
liastily  extinguished  the  fire,  which  had,  indeed,  nothing  that  it  could  lay 
hold  of,  and  proceeded,  by  the  light  of  the  flambeau,  to  examine  the  apart¬ 
ment,  and  its  means  of  entrance.  It  is  scarce  necessary  to  say,  that  he  saw 
no  communication  with  the  room  of  Brenhilda,  which  convinced  him  that 
they  had  been  separated  the  evening  before  under  pretence  of  devotional 
scruples,  in  order  to  accomplish  some  most  villanous  design  upon  one  or 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


133 


both  of  them.  Ilis  own  part  of  the  night's  adventure  we  have  already  seen, 
and  success,  so  far,  over  so  formidable  a  danger,  gave  him  a  trembling  hope 
that  Brenhilda,  by  her  own  worth  and  valour,  would  be  able  to  defend  her¬ 
self  against  all  attacks  of  fraud  or  force,  until  he  could  find  his  way  to  her 
rescue.  “I  should  have  paid  more  regard,'*  he  said,  “to  Boheinond’s 
caution  last  night,  who,  I  think,  intimated  to  me  as  plainly  as  if  he  had 
spoke  it  in  direct  terms,  that  that  same  cup  of  wine  was  a  drugged  potion. 
But  then,  fie  upon  him  for  an  avaricious  hound  !  how  was  it  possible  I  should 
think  he  suspecb-d  any  sucli  thing,  when  he  spoke  not  out  like  a  man,  but, 
for  sheer  coldness  of  heart,  or  base  self-interest,  suffered  me  to  run  the  risk 
of  being  poisoned  by  the  wily  despot?" 

Here  he  heard  a  voice  from  the  same  quarter  as  before.  “  IIo,  there!  Ho, 
stranger!  Do  you  live,  or  have  you  been  murdered?  What  means  this 
stifling  smell  of  smoke  ?  For  God’s  sake,  answer  him  who  can  receive  no 
information  from  eyes,  closed,  alas,  for  ever !" 

“  I  am  at  liberty,"  said  the  Count,  “  and  the  monster  destined  to  devour 
me  has  groaned  its  last.  I  would,  my  friend  Ursel,  since  such  is  thy  name, 
thou  hadst  the  advantage  of  thine  eyes,  to  have  borne  witness  to  yonder 
combat;  it  had  been  worth  thy  while,  though  thou  shouldst  have  lost  them 
a  minute  afterwards,  and  it  would  have  greatly  advantaged  whoever  shall 
have  the  task  of  compiling  my  history." 

While  he  gave  a  thought  to  that  vanity  which  strongly  ruled  him,  he  lost 
no  time  in  seeking  some  mode  of  escape  from  the  dungeon,  for  by  that  means 
only  might  he  hope  to  recover  his  Countess.  At  Last  he  found  an  entrance 
in  the  wall,  but  it  was  strongly  locked  and  bolted.  “  I  have  found  the  pas¬ 
sage,"  he  called  out;  “and  its  direction  is  the  same  in  which  thy  voice  is 
heard  —  But  how  shall  I  undo  the  door  ?" 

“I’ll  teach  thee  that  secret,"  said  Ursel.  “I  would  I  could  as  easily  un¬ 
lock  each  bolt  that  withholds  us  from  the  open  air;  but,  as  for  thy  seclu¬ 
sion  within  the  dungeon,  heave  up  the  door  by  main  strength,  and  thou 
shalt  lift  the  locks  to  a  place  where,  pushing  then  the  door  from  thee,  the 
fiistenings  will  find  a  grooved  passage  in  the  wall,  and  the  door  itself  will 
open.  Would  that  I  could  indeed  see  thee,  not  only  because,  being  a  gal¬ 
lant  man,  thou  must  be  a  goodly  sight,  but  also  because  I  should  thereby 
know  that  I  was  not  caverned  in  darkness  for  ever." 

While  he  spoke  thus,  the  Count  made  a  bundle  of  his  armour,  from  which 
he  missed  nothing  except  his  sword,  Tranchefer,  and  then  proceeded  to  try 
what  efforts  he  could  make,  according  to  the  blind  man’s  instructions,  to 
open  the  door  of  his  prison-house.  Pushing  in  a  direct  line  was,  he  soon 
found,  attended  with  no  effect ;  but  when  he  applied  his  gigantic  strength, 
and  raised  the  door  as  high  as  it  would  go,  he  had  the  satisfaction  to  find 
that  the  bolts  yielded,  though  reluctantly.  A  space  had  been  cut  so  as  to 
allow  them  to  move  out  of  the  socket  into  which  they  had  been  forced ;  and 
without  the  turn  of  a  key,  but  by  a  powerful  thrust  forwards,  a  small  pas¬ 
sage  was  left  open.  The  knight  entered,  bearing  his  armour  in  his  hand. 

“I  hear  thee,"  said  Ursel,  “0  stranger!  and  am  aware  thou  art  come 
into  my  place  of  captivity.  For  three  years  have  I  been  employed  in  cut¬ 
ting  these  grooves,  corresponding  to  the  sockets  which  hold  these  iron  bolts, 
and  preserving  the  knowledge  of  the  secret  from  the  prison-keepers.  Twenty 
such  bolts,  perhaps,  must  be  sawn  through,  ere  my  steps  shall  approach 
the  upper  air.  What  prospect  is  there  that  I  shall  have  strength  of  mind 
sufficient  to  continue  the  task?  Yet,  credit  me,  noble  stranger,  I  rejoice  in 
having  been  thus  far  aiding  to  thy  deliverance ;  for  if  Heaven  blesses  not, 
in  any  farther  degree,  our  aspirations  after  freedom,  we  may  still  be  a  com¬ 
fort  to  each  other,  while  tyranny  permits  our  mutual  life." 

Count  Robert  looked  around,  and  shuddered  that  a  human  being  should 
talk  of  any  thing  approaching  to  comfort,  connected  with  his  residence  in 
what  seemed  a  living  tomb.  Ursel’s  dungeon  was  not  above  twelve  feet 


II 


134 


W  A  V  E  R  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 

square,  vaulted  in  the  roof,  and  strongly  built  in  the  walls  by  stones  which 
the  chisel  had  morticed  closely  together.  A  bed,  a  coarse  footstool,  like 
that  which  Robert  had  just  launched  at  the  head  of  the  tiger,  and  a  table 
of  equally  massive  materials,  were  its  only  articles  of  furniture.  On  a  long 
stone,  above  the  bed,  were  these  few,  but  terrible  words  :  —  Zedekias  Ursel, 

imprisoned  here  on  the  Ides^of  March,  a.d. - .  Died  and  interred  on  the 

spot^'  —  A  blank  was  left  for  filling  up  the  period.  The  figure  of  the  cap¬ 
tive  could  hardly  be  discerned  amid  the  wildness  of  his  dress  and  dishabille. 
The  hair  of  his  head,  uncut  and  uncombed,  descended  in  elf-locks,  and 
mingled  with  a  beard  of  extravagant  length. 

“  Look  on  me,'^  said  the  captive,  “  and  rejoice  that  thou  canst  yet  see  the 
wretched  condition  to  which  iron-hearted  tyranny  can  reduce  a  fellow- 
creature,  both  in  mortal  existence  and  in  future  hope.” 

“Was  it  thou,”  said  Count  Robert,  whose  blood  ran  cold  in  his  veins, 
“  that  hadst  the  heart  to  spend  thy  time  in  sawing  through  the  blocks  of 
stone  by  which  these  bolts  are  secured  ?” 

“  Alas  !”  said  Ursel,  “  what  could  a  blind  man  do  ?  Busy  I  must  be,  if 
I  would  preserve  my  senses.  Great  as  the  labour  was,  it  was  to  me  the  task 
of  three  years ;  nor  can  you  wonder  that  I  should  have  devoted  to  it  my 
whole  time,  when  I  had  no  other  means  of  occupying  it.  Perhaps,  and 
most  likely,  my  dungeon  does  not  admit  the  distinction  of  day  and  night ; 
but  a  distant  cathedral  clock  told  me  how  hour  after  hour  fled  away,  and 
found  me  expending  them  in  rubbing  one  stone  against  another.  But  when 
the  door  gave  way,  I  found  I  had  only  cut  an  access  into  a  prison  more 
strong  than  that  which  held  me.  I  rejoice,  nevertheless,  since  it  has  brought 
us  together,  given  thee  an  entrance  to  my  dungeon,  and  me  a  companion  in 
my  misery.” 

“Think  better  than  that,”  said  Count  Robert,  “think  of  liberty  —  think 
of  revenge!  I  cannot  believe  such  unjust  treachery  will  end  successfully, 
else  needs  must  I  say,  the  heavens  are  less  just  than  priests  tell  us  of. 
How  art  thou  supplied  with  food  in  this  dungeon  of  thine  ?” 

“  A  warder,”  said  Ursel,  “  and  who,  I  think,  understands  not  the  Greek 
language — at  least  he  never  either  answers  or  addresses  me — brings  a  loaf 
and  a  pitcher  of  water,  enough  to  supply  my  miserable  life  till  two  days 
are  past.  I  must,  therefore,  pray  that  you  will  retire  for  a  space  into  the 
next  prison,  so  that  the  warder  may  have  no  means  of  knowing  that  we 
can  hold  correspondence  together.” 

“  I  see  not,”  said  Count  Robert,  “  by  what  access  the  barbarian,  if  he  is 
one,  can  enter  my  dungeon  without  passing  through  yours  ;  but  no  matter, 
I  will  retire  into  the  inner  or  outer  room,  whichever  it  happens  to  be,  and 
be  thou  then  well  aware  that  the  warder  will  have  some  one  to  grapple 
with  ere  he  leaves  his  prison-work  to-day.  Meanwhile,  think  thyself  dumb 
as  thou  art  blind,  and  be  assured  that  the  offer  of  freedom  itself  would  not 
induce  me  to  desert  the  cause  of  a  companion  in  adversity.” 

“  Alas,”  said  the  old  man,  “  I  listen  to  thy  promises  as  I  should  to  those 
of  the  morning  gale,  which  tells  me  that  the  sun  is  about  to  rise,  although 
I  know  that  I  at  least  shall  never  behold  it.  Thou  art  one  of  those  wild  and 
undespairing  knights,  whom  for  so  many  years  the  west  of  Europe  hath 
sent  forth  to  attempt  impossibilities,  and  from  thee,  therefore,  I  can  only 
hope  for  such  a  fabric  of  relief  as  an  idle  boy  would  blow  out  of  soap 
bubbles.” 

“  Think  better  of  us,  old  man,”  said  Count  Robert,  retiring ;  “  at  least 
let  me  die  with  my  blood  warm,  and  believing  it  possible  for  me  to  be  once 
more  united  to  my  beloved  Brenjiilda.” 

So  saying,  he  retired  into  his  own  cell,  and  replaced  the  door,  so  that  the 
operations  of  Ursel,  which  indeed  were  only  such  as  three  years’  solitude 
could  have  achieved,  should  escape  observation  when  again  visited  by  the 
warder.  “  It  is  ill  luck,”  said  he,  when  once  more  within  his  own  prison — 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


135 


for  that  in  which  the  tiger  had  been  secured,  he  instinctively  concluded  to 
be  destined  for  him  — “  It  is  ill  luck  that  I  had  not  found  a  young  and  able 
fellow-captive,  instead  of  one  decrepit  by  imprisonment,  blind,  and  broken 
down  past  exertion.  But  God’s  will  be  done !  I  will  not  leave  behind  mo 
the  poor  wretch  whom  I  have  found  in  such  a*  condition,  though  he  is  per¬ 
fectly  unable  to  assist  me  in  accomplishing  my  escape,  and  is  rather  more 
likely  to  retard  it.  Meantime,  before  we  put  out  the  torch,  let  us  see,  if, 
by  close  examination,  we  can  discover  any  door  in  the  wall  save  that  to  the 
blind  man’s  dungeon.  If  not,  I  much  suspect  that  my  descent  has  been 
made  through  the  roof.  That  cup  of  wine  —  that  Muse,  as  they  called  it, 
had  a  taste  more  like  medicine  than  merry  companions’  pledge.” 

He  began  accordingly  a  strict  survey  of  the  walls,  which  he  resolved  to 
conclude  by  extinguishing  the  torch,  that  he  might  take  the  person  who 
should  enter  his  dungeon  darkling  and  by  surprise.  For  a  similar  reason, 
he  dragged  into  the  darkest  corner  the  carcass  of  the  tiger,  and  covered  it 
with  the  remains  of  the  bed-clothes,  swearing  at  the  same  time,  that  a  half 
tiger  should  be  his  crest  in  future,  if  he  had  the  fortune,  which  his  bold 
heart  would  not  suffer  him  to  doubt,  of  getting  through  the  present  danger. 
“  But,”  he  added,  “  if  these  necromantic  vassals  of  hell  shall  raise  the 
devil  upon  me,  what  shall  I  do  then  ?  And  so  great  is  the  chance,  that 
methinks  I  would  fain  dispense  with  extinguishing  the  flambeau.  Yet  it  is 
childish  for  one  dubbed  in  the  chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Broken  Lances, 
to  make  much  difference  between  a  light  room  and  a  dark  one.  Let  them 
come,  as  many  fiends  as  the  cell  can  hold,  and^we  shall  see  if  we  receive 
them  not  as  becomes  a  Christian  knight ;  and  surely.  Our  Lady,  to  whom 
I  was  ever  a  true  votary,  will  hold  it  an  acceptable  sacrifice  that  I  tore 
myself  from  my  Brenhilda,  even  for  a  single  moment,  in  honour  of  her 
advent,  and  thus  led  the  way  for  our  woful  separation.  Fiends !  I  defy  ye 
in  the  body  as  in  the  spirit,  and  I  retain  the  remains  of  this  flambeau  until 
some  more  convenient  opportunity.”  He  dashed  it  against  the  wall  as  he 
spoke,  and  then  quietly  sat  down  in  a  corner,  to  watch  what  should  next 
happen. 

Thought  after  thought  chased  each  other  through  his  mind.  His  confi¬ 
dence  in  his  wife’s  fidelity,  and  his  trust  in  her  uncommon  strength  and 
activity,  were  the  greatest  comforts  which  he  had ;  nor  could  her  danger 
present  itself  to  him  in  any  shape  so  terrible,  but  that  he  found  consolation 
in  these  reflections :  “  She  is  pure,”  he  said,  “  as  the  dew  of  heaven,  and 
heaven  will  not  abandon  its  own.” 


Cjiaptir  tjjB  liitEEntti. 

strange  ape  of  man !  who  loathes  thee  while  he  scorns  thee. 

Half  a  reproach  to  us  and  half  a  jest. 

What  fancies  can  be  ours  ere  we  have  pleasure 
In  viewing  our  own  form,  onr  pride  and  passions, 

Reflected  in  a  shape  grotesque  as  thine ! 

Anontmous, 

Count  Robert  of  Paris  having  ensconced  himself  behind  the  ruins  of 
the  bed,  so  that  he  could  not  well  be  observed,  unless  a  strong  light  was  at 
once  flung  upon  the  place  of  his  retreat,  waited  with  anxiety  how  and  in 
what  manner  the  warder  of  the  dungeon,  charged  with  the  task  of  bringing 
food  to  the  prisoners,  should  make  himself  visible*,  nor  was  it  long  ere 
symptoms  of  his  approach  began  to  be  heard  and  observed. 


136 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


A  light  was  partially  seen,  as  from  a  trap-door  opening  in  the  roof,  and 
a  voice  was  heard  to  utter  these  words  in  Anglo-Saxon,  “  Leap,  sirrah ; 
come,  no  delay ;  leap,  my  good  Sylvan,  show  your  honour's  activity."  A 
strange  chuckling  hoarse  voice,  in  a  language  totally  unintelligible  to 
Count  Robert,  was  heard  to  respond,  as  if  disputing  the  orders  which  were 
received. 

“  What,  sir,"  said  his  companion,  “  you  must  contest  the  point,  must  you? 
Nay,  if  thou  art  so  lazy,  I  must  give  your  honour  a  ladder,  and  perhaps  a 
kick  to  hasten  your  journey."  Something  then,  of  very  great  size,  in  the 
form  of  a  human  being,  jumped  down  from  the  trap-door,  though  the  height 
might  be  above  fourteen  feet.  This  figure  was  gigantic,  being  upwards  of 
seven  feet  high.  In  its  left  hand  it  held  a  torch,  and  in  its  right  a  skein  of 
fine  silk,  which  unwinding  itself  as  it  descended,  remained  unbroken, 
though  it  was  easy  to  conceive  it  could  not  have  afforded  a  creature  so 
large  any  support  in  his  descent  from  the  roof.  He  alighted  with  perfect 
safety  and  activity  upon  his  feet,  and,  as  if  rebounding  from  the  floor,  he 
sprung  upwards  again,  so  as  almost  to  touch  the  roof.  In  this  last  gambaud 
the  torch  which  he  bore  was  extinguished  ;  but  this  extraordinary  warder 
whirled  it  round  his  head  with  infinite  velocity,  so  that  it  again  ignited. 
The  bearer,  who  appeared  to  intend  the  accomplishment  of  this  object, 
endeavoured  to  satisfy  himself  that  it  was  really  attained  by  approaching, 
as  if  cautiously,  its  left  hand  to  the  flame  of  the  torch.  This  practical 
experiment  seemed  attended  with  consequences  which  the  creature  had  not 
expected,  for  it  howled  with  pain,  shaking  the  burnt  hand,  and  chattering 
as  if  bemoaning  itself. 

“Take  heed  there,  Sylvanus!"  said  the  same  voice  in  Anglo-Saxon,  and 
in  a  tone  of  rebuke.  “  Ho,  there!  mind  thy  duty.  Sylvan  !  Carry  food  to- 
the  blind  man,  and  stand  not  there  to  play  thyself,  lest  I  trust  thee  not 
again  alone  on  such  an  errand !" 

The  creature  —  for  it  would  have  been  rash  to  have  termed  it  a  man  — 
turning  its  eye  upwards  to  the  place  from  whence  the  voice  came,  answered 
with  a  dreadful  grin  and  shaking  of  its  fist,  yet  presently  began  to  undo  a 
parcel,  and  rummage  in  the  pockets  of  a  sort  of  jerkin  and  pantaloons 
which  it  wore,  seeking,  it  appeared,  a  bunch  of  keys,  which  at  length  it 
produced,  while  it  took  from  the  pocket  a  loaf  of  bread.  Heating  the  stone 
of  the  wall,  it  affixed  the  torch  to  it  by  a  piece  of  wax,  and  then  cautiously 
looked  out  for  the  entrance  to  the  old  man's  dungeon,  which  it  opened  with 
a  key  selected  from  the  bunch.  Within  the  passage  it  seemed  to  look  for 
and  discover  the  handle  of  a  pump,  at  which  it  filled  a  pitcher  that  it  bore, 
and  bringing  back  the  fragments  of  the  former  loaf,  and  remains  of  the 
pitcher  of  water,  it  ate  a  little,  as  if  it  were  in  sport,  and  very  soon  making 
a  frightful  grimace,  flung  the  fragments  away.  The  Count  of  Paris,  in  the 
meanwhile,  watched  anxiously  the  proceedings  of  this  unknown  animal. 
His  first  thought  was,  that  the  creature,  whose  limbs  were  so  much  larger 
than  humanity,  whose  grimaces  were  so  frightful,  and  whose  activity  seemed 
supernatural,  could  be  no  other  than  the  Devil  himself,  or  some  of  his  imps, 
whose  situation  and  office  in  those  gloomy  regions  seemed  by  no  means  hard 
to  conjecture.  The  human  voice,  however,  which  he  had  heard,  was  less 
that  of  a  necromancer  conjuring  a  fiend  than  that  of  a  person  giving  com¬ 
mands  to  a  wild  animal,  over  w-hom  he  had,  by  training,  obtained  a  great 
superiority. 

“A  shame  on  it,"  said  the  Count,  “if  I  suffer  a  common  jackanapes, — 
for  such  I  take  this  devil-seeming  beast  to  be,  although  twice  as  large  as 
any  of  its  fellows  whom  I  have  ever  seen, — to  throw  an  obstacle  in  the  way 
of  my  obtaining  daylight  and  freedom  !  Let  us  but  watch,  and  the  chance 
is  that  we  make  that  furry  gentleman  our  guide  to  the  upper  regions." 

Meantime  the  creature,  which  rummaged  about  everywhere,  at  length 
discovered  the  body  of  the  tiger,  —  touched  it,  stirred  it,  with  many  strange 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  P7\RIS. 


137 


motions,  and  seemed  to  lament  and  wonder  at  its  death.  At  once  it  seemed 
struck  with  the  idea  that  some  one  must  have  slain  it,  and  Count  Robert 
had  the  mortification  to  see  it  once  more  select  the  key,  and  spring  towards 
the  door  of  Ursel’s  prison  with  such  alacrity,  that  had  its  intention  been  to 
strangle  him,  it  would  have  accomplished  its  purpose  before  the  interference 
of  Count  Robert  could  have  prevented  its  revenge  taking  place.  Appa¬ 
rently,  however,  it  reflected,  that  for  reasons  which  seemed  satisfactory, 
the  death  of  the  tiger  could  not  be  caused  by  the  unfortunate  Ursel,  but 
had  been  accomplished  by  some  one  concealed  within  the  outer  prison. 

Slowly  grumbling,  therefore,  and  chattering  to  itself,  and  peeping  anx¬ 
iously  into  every  corner,  the  tremendous  creature,  so  like  yet  so  very  unlike 
to  the  human  form,  came  stealing  along  the  walls,  moving  -whatever  he 
thought  could  seclude  a  man  from  his  observation.  Its  extended  legs  and 
arms  were  protruded  forward  with  great  strides,  and  its  sharp  eyes,  on  the 
■vN’atch  to  discover  the  object  of  its  search,  kept  prying,  with  the  assistance 
of  the  torch,  into  every  corner. 

Considering  the  vicinity  of  Alexius's  collection  of  animals,  the  reader,  by 
this  time,  can  have  little  doubt  that  the  creature  in  question,  whose  appear¬ 
ance  seemed  to  the  Count  of  Paris  so  very  problematical,  was  a  specimen 
of  that  gigantic  species  of  ape — if  it  is  not  indeed  some  animal  more  nearly 
allied  to  ourselves  —  to  which,  I  believe,  naturalists  have  given  the  name  of 
the  Ourang  Outang.  This  creature  differs  from  the  rest  of  its  fraternity,  in 
being  comparatively  more  docile  and  serviceable:  and  though  possessing 
the  power  of  imitation  which  is  common  to  the  whole  race,  yet  making  use 
of  it  less  in  mere  mockery,  than  in  the  desire  of  improvement  and  instruc¬ 
tion  perfectly  unknown  to  his  brethren.  The  aptitude  which  it  possesses 
of  acquiring  information,  is  surprisingly  great,  and  probably,  if  placed  in 
a  favourable  situation,  it  might  admit  of  being  domesticated  in  a  con¬ 
siderable  degree  ;  but  such  advantages  the  ardour  of  scientific  curiosity  has 
never  afforded  this  creature.  The  last  we  have  heard  of  was  seen,  we 
believe,  in  the  Island  of  Sumatra  —  it  was  of  great  size  and  strength,  and 
upwards  of  seven  feet  high.  It  died  defending  desperately  its  innocent  life 
against  a  party  of  Europeans,  who,  we  cannot  help  thinking,  might  have 
better  employed  the  superiority  which  their  knowledge  gave  them  over  the 
poor  native  of  the  forest.  It  was  probably  this  creature,  seldom  seen,  but 
when  once  seen  never  forgotten,  which  occasioned  the  ancient  belief  in  the 
god  Pan,  with  his  sy Ivans  and  satyrs.  Nay,  but  for  the  gift  of  speech, 
which  we  cannot  suppose  any  of  the  family  to  have  attained,  we  should 
have  believed  the  satyr  seen  by  St.  Anthony  in  the  desert  to  have  belonged 
to  this  tribe. 

We  can,  therefore,  the  more  easily  credit  the  annals  which  attest  that 
the  collection  of  natural  history  belonging  to  Alexius  Comnenus,  preserved 
an  animal  of  this  kind,  which  had  been  domesticated  and  reclaimed  to  a 
surprising  extent,  and  showed  a  degree  of  intelligence  never  perhaps  to  be 
attained  in  any  other  case.  These  explanations  being  premised,  we  return 
to  the  thread  of  our  story. 

The  animal  advanced  with  long  noiseless  steps ;  its  shadow  on  the  wall, 
when  it  held  the  torch  so  as  to  make  it  visible  to  the  Frank,  forming  another 
fiend-resembling  mimicry  of  its  own  large  figure  and  extravagant-looking 
members.  Count  Robert  remained  in  his  lurking  hole,  in  no  hurry  to  begin 
a  strife,  of  which  it  was  impossible  to  foretell  the  end.  In  the  meantime, 
the  man  of  the  woods  came  nigh,  and  every  step  by  which  he  approached, 
caused  the  Count’s  heart  to  vibrate  almost  audibly,  at  the  idea  of  meeting 
danger  of  a  nature  so  strange  and  new.  At  length  the  creature  approached 
the  bed — his  hideous  eyes  were  fixed  on  those  of  the  Count ;  and,  as  much 
surprised  at  seeing  him  as  Robert  was  at  the  meeting,  he  skipped  about 
fifteen  paces  backwards  at  one  spring,  with  a  cry  of  instinctive  terror,  and 
then  advanced  on  tiptoe,  holding  his  torch  as  far  forward  as  he  could,  be- 

m2 


188 


WAVERLEY  'NOVELS. 


tween  him  and  the  object  of  his  fears,  as  if  to  examine  him  at  the  safest 
possible  distance.  Count  Robert  caught  up  a  fragment  of  the  bedstead, 
large  enough  to  form  a  sort  of  club,  with  -vsliich  he  menaced  the  native  of 
the  wilds. 

Apparently  this  poor  creature's  education,  like  education  of  most  kinds, 
had  not  been  acquired  without  blows,  of  which  the  recollection  was  as  fresh 
as  that  of  the  lessons  which  they  enforced.  Sir  Robert  of  Paris  was  a  man 
at  once  to  discover  and  to  avail  himself  of  the  advantage  obtained  by  finding 
that  he  possessed  a  degree  of  ascendancy  over  his  enemy,  which  he  had  not 
suspected.  He  erected  his  warlike  figure,  assumed  a  step  as  if  triumphant 
in  the  lists,  and  advanced  threatening  his  enemy  with  his  club,  as  he  would 
have  menaced  his  antagonist  with  the  redoutable  Tranchefer.  The  man  of 
the  woods,  on  the  other  hand,  obviously  gave  way,  and  converted  his  cautious 
advance  into  a  retreat  no  less  cautious.  Yet  apparently  the  creature  had 
not  renounced  some  plan  of  resistance  ;  he  chattered  in  an  angry  and  hostile 
tone,  held  out  his  torch  in  opposition,  and  seemed  about  to  strike  the  cru¬ 
sader  with  it.  Count  Robert,  however,  determined  to  take  his  opponent  at 
advantage,  while  his  fears  influenced  him,  and  for  this  purpose  resolved,  if 
possible,  to  deprive  him  of  his  natural  superiority  in  strength  and  agility, 
which  his  singular  form  showed  he  could  not  but  possess  over  the  human 
species.  A  master  of  his  weapon,  therefore,  the  Count  menaced  his  savage 
antagonist  with  a  stroke  on  the  right  side  of  his  head,  but  suddenly  avert¬ 
ing  the  blow,  struck  him  with  his  whole  force  on  the  left  temple,  and  in  an 
instant  was  kneeling  above  him,  when,  drawing  his  dagger,  he  was  about 
to  deprive  him  of  life. 

The  Ourang  Outang,  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  this  new  weapon  with 
which  he  was  threatened,  attempted  at  one  and  the  same  moment,  to  rise 
from  the  ground,  overthrow  his  antagonist,  and  wrench  the  dagger  from 
his  grasp.  In  the  first  attempt,  he  would  probably  have  succeeded ;  and 
as  it  was,  he  gained  his  knees,  and  seemed  likely  to  prevail  in  the  struggle, 
when  he  became  sensible  that  the  knight,  drawing  his  poniard  sharply 
through  his  grasp,  had  cut  his  paw  severely,  and  seeing  him  aim  the 
trenchant  weapon  at  his  throat,  became  probably  aware  that  his  enemy  had 
his  life  at  command.  He  suffered  himself  to  be  borne  backwards  without 
further  resistance,  with  a  deep  wailing  and  melancholy  cry,  having  in  it 
something  human,  which  excited  compassion.  He  covered  his  eyes  with 
the  unwounded  hand,  as  if  he  would  have  hid  from  his  own  sight  the  death 
which  seemed  approaching  him. 

Count  Robert,  notwithstanding  his  military  frenzy,  was,  in  ordinary 
matters,  a  calm-tempered  and  mild  man,  and  particularly  benevolent  to  the 
lower  classes  of  creation.  The  thought  rushed  through  his  mind,  “  Why 
take  from  this  unfortunate  monster  the  breath  which  is  in  its  nostrils,  after 
which  it  cannot  know  another  existence?  And  then,  may  it  not  be  some 
prince  or  knight  changed  to  this  grotesque  shape,  that  it  may  help  to  guard 
these  vaults,  and  the  wonderful  adventures  that  attach  to  them  ?  Should  I 
not,  then,  be  guilty  of  a  crime  by  slaying  him,  when  he  has  rendered  him-' 
self,  rescue  or  no  rescue,  which  he  has  done  as  completely  as  his  trans¬ 
formed  figure  permits  ;  and  if  he  be  actually  a  bestial  creature,  may  he  not 
have  some  touch  of  gratitude  ?  I  have  heard  the  minstrels  sing  the  lay  of 
Androcles  and  the  Lion.  I  will  be  on  my  guard  with  him." 

So  saying,  he  rose  from  above  the  man  of  the  woods,  and  permitted  him 
also  to  arise.  The  creature  seemed  sensible  of  the  clemency,  for  he  muttered 
in  a  low  and  supplicating  tone,  which  seemed  at  once  to  crave  for  mercy, 
and  to  return  thanks  for  what  he  had  already  experienced.  He  wept  too, 
as  he  saw  the  blood  dropping  from  his  wound,  and  with  an  anxious  counte¬ 
nance,  which  had  more  of  the  human  now  that  it  was  composed  into  an 
expression  of  pain  and  melancholy,  seemed  to  await  in  terror  the  doom  of 
a  being  more  powerful  than  himself. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


180 


The  pocket  which  the  kniglit  wore  under  his  armour,  capable  of  contain¬ 
ing  but  few  things,  had,  however,  some  vulnerary  balsam,  for  which  its 
owner  had  often  occasion,  a  little  lint,  and  a  small  roll  of  linen  ;  these  the 
knight  took  out,  and  motioned  to  the  animal  to  hold  forth  his  wounded 
hand.  The  man  of  the  woods  obeyed  Avith  hesitation  and  reluctance,  and 
Count  Robert  applied  the  balsam  and  the  dressings,  acquainting  his  patient, 
at  the  same  time,  in  a  severe  tone  of  voice,  that  perhaps  he  did  Avrong  in 
putting  to  his  use  a  balsam  compounded  for  the  service  of  the  noblest 
knights  ;  but  that,  if  he  saw  the  least  sign  of  his  making  an  ungrateful 
use  of  the  benefit  he  had  conferred,  he  would  bury  the  dagger,  of  which  he 
had  felt  the  efficacy,  to  the  very  handle,  in  his  body. 

The  Syh'an  looked  fixedly  upon  Count  Robert,  almost  as  if  he  understood 
the  language  used  to  him,  and,  making  one  of  its  native  murmurs,  it 
stooped  to  the  earth,  kissed  the  feet  of  the  knight,  and  embracing  his  knees, 
seemed  to  swear  to  him  eternal  gratitude  and  fidelity.  Accordingly,  when 
the  Count  retired  to  the  bed  and  assumed  his  armour,  to  await  the  re-open¬ 
ing  of  the  trap-door,  the  animal  sat  down  by  his  side,  directing  its  eyes  in 
the  line  with  his,  and  seemed  quietly  to  Avait  till  the  door  should  open. 

After  Avaiting  about  an  hour,  a  slight  noise  was 'heard  in  the  upper 
chamber,  and  the  wild  man  plucked  the  Frank  by  the  cloak,  as  if  to  call 
his  attention  to  what  Avas  about  to  happen.  The  same  voice  Avhich  had 
before  spoken,  was,  after  a  whistle  or  two,  heard  to  call,  “  Sylvan,  Sylvan ! 
Avhere  loiterest  thou?  Come  instantly,  or,  by  the  rood,  thou  shalt  abyc  thy 
sloth 

The  poor  monster,  as  Trinculo  might  have  called  him,  seemed  perfectly 
aware  of  the  meaning  of  this  threat,  and  shoAved  his  sense  of  it  by  pressing 
close  to  the  side  of  Count  Robert,  making  at  the  same  time  a  kind  of 
Avhining,  entreating,  it  would  seem,  the  knight’s  protection.  Forgetting 
the  great  improbability  there  was,  even  in  his  OAvn  opinion,  that  the  creature 
could  understand  him.  Count  Robert  said,  “Why,  my  friend,  thou  hast 
already  learned  the  principal  court  prayer  of  this  country,  by  which  men 
entreat  permission  to  speak  and  live.  Fear  nothing,  poor  creature  —  I  am 
thy  protector.” 

“  Sylvan  !  Avhat,  ho !”  said  the  voice  again  ;  “  whom  hast  thou  got  for  a 
companion  ? — some  of  the  fiends,  or  ghosts  of  murdered  men,  who  they  say 
are  frequent  in  these  dungeons?  or  dost  thou  converse  with  the  old  blind 
rebel  Grecian  ? — or,  finally,  is  it  true  wdiat  men  say  of  thee,  that  thou  canst 
talk  intelligibly  when  thou  Avilt,  and  only  gibberest  and  chatterest  for  fear 
thou  art  sent  to  work?  Come,  thou  lazy  rascal !  thou  shalt  have  the  advan¬ 
tage  of  the  ladder  to  ascend  by,  though  thou  needest  it  no  more  than  a  daAV 
to  ascend  the  steeple *bf  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Sophia.*  Come  along  then,” 
he  said,  putting  a  ladder  down  the  trap-door,  “  and  put  me  not  to  the  trouble 
of  descending  to  fetch  thee,  else,  by  St.  Swithin,  it  shall  be  the  worse  for 
thee.  Come  along,  therefore,  like  a  good  felloAv,  and  for  once  I  shall  spare 
the  whip.” 

The  animal,  apparently,  was  moved  by  this  rhetoric,  for,  Avith  a  doleful 
look,  Avhich  Count  Robe-rt  saAv  by  means  of  the  nearly  extinguished  torch, 
he  seemed  to  bid  him  farewell,  and  to  creep  away  toAvards  the  ladder  with 
the  same  excellent  good-will  wherewith  a  condemned  criminal  performs  the 
like  evolution.  But  no  sooner  did  the  Count  look  angry,  and  shake  the 
formidable  dagger,  than  the  intelligent  animal  seemed  at  once  to  take  his 
resolution,  and  clenching  his  hands  firmly  together  in  the  fashion  of  one 
who  has  made  up  his  mind,  he  returned  from  the  ladder’s  foot,  and  drew  up 
behind  Count  Robert, — with  the  air,  however,  of  a  deserter,  who  feels  him¬ 
self  but  little  at  home  when  called  into  the  field  against  his  ancient  com¬ 
mander. 


*  Now  the  chief  mosque  of  the  Ottoman  capital. 


140 


WAVER  LEY  NOVELS. 


In  a  short  time  the  warder’s  patience  was  exhausted,  and  despairing  of 
the  S3dvan’s  voluntary  return,  he  resolved  to  descend  in  quest  of  him. 
Down  the  ladder  he  came,  a  bundle  of  keys  in  one  hand,  the  other  assisting 
his  descent,  and  a  sort  of  dark  lantern,  whose  bottom  was  so  fashioned  that 
he  could  wear  it  upon  his  head  like  a  hat.  He  had  scarce  stept  on  the  floor, 
when  he  was  surrounded  by  the  nervous  arms  of  the  Count  of  Paris.  At 
first  the  warder’s  idea  was,  that  he  was  seized  by  the  recusant  Sylvan. 

“  How  now,  villain  V’  he  said  ;  “  let  me  go,  or  thou  shalt  die  the  death. 

“  Thou  diest  thyself,”  said  the  Count,  who,  between  the  surprise  and  his 
own  skill  in  wrestling,  felt  fully  his  advantage  in  the  struggle. 

“  Treason  !  treason !”  cried  the  warder,  hearing  bj"  the  voice  that  a 
stranger  had  mingled  in  the  contest ;  “  help,  ho  !  above  there  !  help,  Here- 
ward — Varangian  ! — Anglo-Saxon,  or  whatever  accursed  name  thou  callest 
thyself!” 

While  he  spoke  thus,  the  irresistible  grasp  of  Count  Robert  seized  his 
throat,  and  choked  his  utterance.  They  fell  heavily,  the  jailor  undermost, 
upon  the  floor  of  the  dungeon,  and  Robert  of  Paris,  the  necessity  of  w'hose 
case  excused  the  action,  plunged  his  dagger  in  the  throat  of  the  unfortunate. 
Just  as  he  did  so,  a  noise  of  armour  was  heard,  and,  rattling  down  the 
ladder,  our  acquaintance  Hereward  stood  on  the  floor  of  the  dungeon.  The 
light,  which  had  rolled  from  the  head  of  the  warder,  continued  to  show  him 
streaming  with  blood,  and  in  the  death-grasp  of  a  stranger.  Hereward 
hesitated  not  to  fly  to  his  assistance,  and,  seizing  upon  the'  Count  of  Paris 
at  the  same  advantage  which  that  knight  had  gained  over  his  own  adversary 
a  moment  before,  held  him  forcibly  down  with  his  face  to  the  earth. 

Count  Robert  was  one  of  the  strongest  men  of  that  military  age ;  but 
then  so  was  the  Varangian ;  and  save  that  the  latter  had  obtained  a  decided 
advantage  by  having  his  antagonist  beneath  him,  it  could  not  certainly  have 
been  conjectured  which  way  the  combat  was  to  go. 

“Yield,  as  your  own  jargon  goes,  rescue  or  no  rescue,”  said  the  Varan¬ 
gian,  “  or  die  on  the  point  of  my  dagger !” 

“A  French  Count  never  yields,”  answered  Robert,  who  began  to  con¬ 
jecture  with  what  sort  of  person  he  was  engaged,  “above  all  to  a  vagabond 
slave  like  thee !”  With  this  he  made  an  efibrt  to  rise,  so  sudden,  so  strong, 
so  powerful,  that  he  had  almost  freed  himself  from  the  Varangian’s  grasp, 
had  not  Hereward,  by  a  violent  exertion  of  his  great  strength,  preserved 
the  advantage  he  had  gained,  and  raised  his  poniard  to  end  the  strife  for 
ever ;  but  a  loud  chuckling  laugh  of  an  unearthly  sound  was  at  this  instant 
heard.  The  Varangian’s  extended  arm  was  seized  with  vigour,  while  a 
rough  arm  embracing  his  throat,  turned  him  over  on  his  back,  and  gave  the 
French  Count  an  opportunity  of  springing  up. 

“Death  to  thee,  wretch!”  said  the  Varangian,  scarce  knowing  whom  he 
threatened  ;  but  the  man  of  the  woods  apparently  had  an  awful  recollection 
of  the  prowess  of  human  beings.  He  fled,  therefore,  swiftly  up  the  ladder, 
and  left  Hereward  and  his  deliverer  to  fight  it  out  with  what  success  chance 
might  determine  between  them. 

The  circumstances  seemed  to  argue  a  desperate  combat ;  both  were  tall, 
strong,  and  courageous,  both  had  defensive  armour,  and  the  fatal  and 
desperate  poniard  was  their  only  offensive  weapon.  They  paused  facing 
each  other,  and  examined  eagerly  into  their  respective  means  of  defence 
before  hazarding  a  blow,  which,  if  it  missed,  its  attaint  would  certainly  be 
fatally  requited.  During  this  deadly  pause,  a  gleam  shone  from  the  trap¬ 
door  above,  as  the  wild  and  alarmed  visage  of  the  man  of  the  woods  was 
seen  peering  down  by  the  light  of  a  newly  kindled  torch  w^hich  he  held  as 
low  into  the  dungeon  as  he  well  could. 

“  Fight  bravely,  comrade,”  said  Count  Robert  of  Paris,  “  for  we  no  longer 
battle  in  private ;  this  respectable  person  having  chosen  to  constitute  him¬ 
self  judge  of  the  field.” 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


141 


Hazardous  as  his  situation  was,  the  Varangian  looked  up,  and  was  so 
struck  with  the  wild  and  terrified  expression  which  the  creature  had 
assumed,  and  the  strife  between  curiosity  and  terror  which  its  grotesque 
features  exhibited,  that  he  could  not  help  bursting  into  a  fit  of  laughter. 

“  Sylvan  is  among  those,'^  said  llereward,  “  who  would  rather  hold  the 
candle  to  a  dance  so  formidable  than  join  in  it  himself.^' 

“  Is  there  then,'’  said  Count  Robert,  “  any  absolute  necessity  that  thou 
and  I  perform  this  dance  at  all?” 

“  None  but  our  own  pleasure,”  answered  llereward  ;  “  for  I  suspect  there 
is  not  between  us  any  legitimate  cause  of  quarrel  demanding  to  be  fought 
out  in  such  a  place,  and  before  such  a  spectator.  Thou  art,  if  I  mistake 
not,  the  bold  Frank,  who  was  yesternight  imprisoned  in  this  place  with  a 
tiger,  chained  within  no  distant  spring  of  his  bed?” 

“  I  am,”  answered  the  Count. 

“  And  where  is  the  animal  who  was  opposed  to  thee  ?” 

“  lie  lies  yonder,”  answered  the  Count,  “  never  again  to  be  the  object  of 
more  terror  than  the  deer  whom  he  may  have  preyed  on  in  his  day.”  He 
pointed  to  the  body  of  the  tiger,  which  llereward  examined  by  the  light  of 
the  dark  lantern  already  mentioned. 

“  And  this,  then,  was  thy  handiwork  ?”  said  the  wondering  Anglo-Saxon. 

“  Sooth  to  say  it  was,”  answered  the  Count,  with  indifierence. 

“And  thou  hast  slain  my  comrade  of  this  strange  watch?”  said  the  Va¬ 
rangian. 

“  Mortally  wounded  him  at  the  least,”  said  Count  Robert. 

“With  your  patience,  I  will  be  beholden  to  you  for  a  moment's  truce, 
while  I  examine  his  wound,”  said  llereward. 

“  Assuredly,”  answered  the  Count ;  “  blighted  be  the  arm  which  strikes 
a  foul  blow  at  an  open  antagonist !” 

AFithout  demanding  further  security,  the  Varangian  quitted  his  posture 
of  defence  and  precaution,  and  set  himself,  by  the  assistance  of  the  dark 
lantern,  to  examine  the  wound  of  the  first  warder  who  appeared  on  the  field, 
who  seemed,  by  his  Roman  military  dress,  to  be  a  soldier  of  the  bands 
called  Immortals.  He  found  him  in  the  death-agony,  but  still  able  to  speak. 

“  So,  Varangian,  thou  art  come  at  last, — and  is  it  to  thy  sloth  or  treachery 
that  I  am  to  impute  my  fate? — Nay,  answer  me  not! — The  stranger  struck 
me  over  the  collar-bone  —  had  we  lived  long  together,  or  met  often,  I  had 
done  the  like  by  thee,  to  wipe  out  the  memory  of  certain  transactions  at  the 
Golden  Gate.  —  I  know  the  use  of  the  knife  too  well  to  doubt  the  effect  of  a 
blow  aimed  over  the  collar-bone  by  so  strong  a  hand — I  feel  it  coming.  The 
Immortal,  so  called,  becomes  now,  if  priests  say  true,  an  immortal  indeed, 
and  Sebastcs  of  Mytilene's  bow  is  broken  ere  his  quiver  is  half  emptied.” 

The  robber  Greek  sunk  back  in  Ilereward’s  arms,  and  closed  his  life  with 
a  groan,  which  was  the  last  sound  he  uttered.  The  Varangian  laid  the  body 
at  length  on  the  dungeon  floor. 

“  This  is  a  perplexed  matter,” — he  said  ;  “  I  am  certainly  not  called  upon 
to  put  to  death  a  brave  man,  although  my  national  enemy,  because  he  hath 
killed  a  miscreant  who  was  privately  meditating  my  own  murder.  Neither 
is  this  a  place  or  a  light  by  which  to  fight  as  becomes  the  champions  of 
two  nations.  Let  that  quarrel  be  still  for  the  present. — How  say  you  then, 
noble  sir,  if  we  adjourn  the  present  dispute  till  we  effect  your  deliverance 
from  the  dungeons  of  the  Blacquernal,  and  your  restoration  to  your  own 
friends  and  followers?  If  a  poor  Varangian  should  be  of  service  to  you  in 
this  matter,  would  you,  when  it  was  settled,  refuse  to  meet  him  in  fair  fight, 
with  your  national  w'eapons  or  his  own  ?” 

“  If,”  said  Count  Robert,  “  whether  friend  or  enemy,  thou  wilt  extend 
thy  assistance  to  my  wife,  who  is  also  imprisoned  somewhere  in  this  inhos¬ 
pitable  palace,  be  assured,  that  whatever  be  thy  rank,  whatever  be  thy  coun¬ 
try,  whatever  be  thy  condition,  Robert  of  Paris  will,  at  thy  choice,  proffer 


142 


WAVE  11  LEY  NOVEL.S. 


thee  his  right  hand  in  friendship,  or  raise  it  against  thee  in  fair  and  manly 
battle  —  a  strife  not  of  hatred,  but  of  honour  and  esteem  ;  and  this  I  vow 
by  the  soul  of  Charlemagne,  my  ancestor,  and  by  the  shrine  of  my  patroness, 
Our  Lady  of  the  Broken  Lances.’^  ' 

“Enough  said,’^  replied  Hereward.  “I  am  as  much  bound  to  the  assist¬ 
ance  of  your  Lady  Countess,  being  a  poor  exile,  as  if  I  were  the  first  in 
the  ranks  of  chivalry ;  for  if  any  thing  can  make  the  cause  of  worth  and 
bravery  yet  more  obligatory,  it  must  be  its  being  united  with  that  of  a  help¬ 
less  and  suffering  female/^ 

“  I  ought,’’  said  Count  Robert,  “to  be  here  silent,  without  loading  thy 
generosity  with  farther  requests ;  yet  thou  art  a  man,  whom,  if  fortune  has 
not  smiled  at  thy  birth,  by  ordaining  thee  to  be  born  within  the  ranks  of 
noblesse  and  knighthood,  yet  Providence  hath  done  thee  more  justice  by 
giving  thee  a  more  gallant  heart  than  is  always  possessed,  I  fear,  by  those 
who  are  inwoven  in  the  gayest  wreath  of  chivalry.  There  lingers  here  in 
these  dungeons,  for  I  cannot  say  he  lives  —  a  blind  old  man,  to  whom  for 
three  years  every  thing  beyond  his  prison  has  been  a  universal  blot.  His 
food  is  bread  and  water,  his  intercourse  limited  to  the  conversation  of  a 
sullen  warder,  and  if  death  can  ever  come  as  a  deliverer,  it  must  be  to  this 
dark  old  man.  What  sayst  thou  ?  Shall  he,  so  unutterably  miserable,  not 
profit  by  perhaps  the  only  opportunity  of  freedom  that  may  ever  occur  to 
him  ?” 

“By  St.  Dunstan,”  answered  the  Varangian,  “thou  keepest  over  truly 
the  oath  thou  hast  taken  as  a  redresser  of  wrongs  !  Thine  own  case  is  well- 
nigh  desperate,  and  thou  art  willing  to  make  it  utterly  so  by  uniting  with  it 
that  of  every  unhappy  person  whom  fate  throws  in  thy  way  !” 

“  The  more  of  human  misery  we  attempt  to  relieve,”  said  Robert  of  Paris, 
“  the  more  we  shall  carry  with  us  the  blessing  of  our  merciful  saints,  and 
Our  Lady  of  the  Broken  Lances,  who  views  with  so  much  pain  every  species 
of  human  suffering  or  misfortune,  save  that  which  occurs  within  the  en¬ 
closure  of  the  lists.  But  come,  valiant  Anglo-Saxon,  resolve  me  on  my 
request  as  speedily  as  thou  canst.  There  is  something  in  thy  face  of  can¬ 
dour  as  well  as  sense,  and  it  is  with  no  small  confidence  that  I  desire  to  see 
us  set  forth  in  quest  of  my  beloved  Countess,  who,  when  her  deliverance  is 
once  achieved,  will  be  a  powerful  aid  to  us  in  recovering  that  of  others.” 

“  So  be  it,  then,”  said  the  Varangian ;  “  we  will  proceed  in  quest  of  the 
Countess  Brenhilda ;  and  if,  on  recovering  her,  we  find  ourselves  strong 
enough  to  procure  the  freedom  of  the  dark  old  man,  my  cowardice,  or  want 
of  compassion,  shall  never  stop  the  attempt.” 


CjiaptBr  tjiE  liDEntEintli. 

’Tis  strangle  that,  in  the  dark  sulphureous  mine, 

Where  wild  ambition  piles  its  ripening  stores 
Of  slumberiiii?  thunder,  Love  will  interpose 
His  tiny  torch,  and  cause  the  stern  explosion 
To  burst,  when  the  deviser’s  least  aware. 

Anonymous. 

About  noon  of  the  same  day,  Agelastes  met  with  Achilles  Tatius,  the 
commander  of  the  Varangian  guard,  in  those  ruins*of  the  Egyptian  temple 
in  which  we  formerly  mentioned  Hereward  having  had  an  interview  with 
the  philosopher.  They  met,  as  it  seemed,  in  a  very  different  humour. 
Tatius  was  gloomy,  melancholy,  and  downcast;  while  the  philosopher  main- 


/ 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


143 


tained  the  calm  indifference  which  procured  for  him,  and  in  some  sort 
deserved,  the  title  of  the  Elephant.  “  Thou  blenchest,  Achilles  Tatiiis,’^ 
said  the  philosopher,  “now  tliat  thou  hast  frankly  opposed  thyself  to  all 
the  dangers  which  stood  between  thee  and  greatness.  Thou  art  like  the 
idle  boy  who  turned  the  mill-stream  upon  the  machine,  and  that  done, 
instead  of  making  a  proper  use  of  it,  was  terrified  at  seeing  it  in  motion. 

“  Thou  dost  me  wrong,  Agelastes,’'  answered  the  Acolyte,  “  foul  wrong ; 
I  am  but  like  the  mariner,  who  although  determined  upon  his  vo3^age,  yet 
cannot  forbear  a  sorrowing  glance  at  the  shore,  before  he  parts  with  it,  it 
may  be,  for  ever.^’ 

“  It  may  have  been  right  to  think  of  this,  but  pardon  me,  valiant  Tatius, 
when  I  tell  you  the  account  should  have  been  made  up  before ;  and  the 
grandson  of  Alguric  the  Ilun  ought  to  have  computed  chances  and  conse¬ 
quences  ere  he  stretched  his  hand  to  his  master’s  diadem.” 

“  Hush  !  for  Heaven’s  sake,”  said  Tatius,  looking  round  ;  “  that,  thou 
knowest,  is  a  secret  between  our  two  selves ;  for  if  Nicephorus,  the  Caesar, 
should  learn  it,  where  were  we  and  our  conspiracy  ?” 

“  Our  bodies  on  the  gibbet,  probably,”  answered  Agelastes,  “  and  our 
souls  divorced  from  them,  and  in  the  way  of  discovering  the  secrets  which 
thou  hast  hitherto  taken  upon  trust.” 

“Well,”  said  Achilles,  “and  should  not  the  consciousness  of  the  possi¬ 
bility  of  this  fate  render  us  cautious  ?’^ 

“  Cautious  men,  if  j'ou  will,”  answered  Agelastes,  “  but  not  timid 
children.” 

“  Stone  walls  can  hear,” — said  the  Follower,  lowering  his  voice.  “  Diony¬ 
sius  the  tyrant,  I  have  read,  had  an  ear  which  conveyed  to  him  the  secrets 
spoken  within  his  state-prison  at  Syracuse.” 

“  And  that  Ear  is  still  stationary  at  Syracuse,”  said  the  philosopher. 
“  Tell  me,  my  most  simple  friend,  art  thou  afraid  it  has  been  transported 
hither  in  one  night,  as  the  Latins  believe  of  Our  Lady’s  house  of  Loretto?” 

“  No,”  answered  Achilles,  “  but  in  an  affair  so  important  too  much  caution 
cannot  be  used.” 

“Well,  thou  most  cautious  of  candidates  for  empire,  and  most  cold  of 
military  leaders,  know  that  the  Caesar,  deeming,  I  think,  that  there  is  no 
chance  of  the  empire  falling  to  any  one  but  himself,  hath  taken  in  his  head 
to  consider  his  succession  to  Alexius  as  a  matter  of  course,  whenever  the 
election  takes  place.  In  consequence,  as  matters  of  course  are  usually 
matters  of  indifference,  he  has  left  all  thoughts  of  securing  his  interest  upon 
this  material  occasion  to  thee  and  to  me,  while  the  foolish  voluptuary  hath 
himself  run  mad — for  what  think  you  ?  Something  between  man  and  woman 
— female  in  her  lineaments,  her  limbs,  and  a  part  at  least  of  her  garments  ; 
but,  so  help  me  St.  George,  most  masculine  in  the  rest  of  her  attire,  in  her 
propensities,  and  in  her  exercises.” 

“  The  Amazonian  wife,  thou  meanest,”  said  Achilles,  “  of  that  iron-handed 
Frank,  who  dashed  to  pieces  last  night  the  golden  lion  of  Solomon  with  a 
blow  of  his  fist  ?  By  St.  George,  the  least  which  can  come  of  such  an  amour 
is  broken  bones.” 

“That,”  said  Agelastes,  “is  not  quite  so  improbable  as  that  Dionysius’s 
Ear  should  fly  hither  from  S^’racuse  in  a  single  night;  but  he  is  presump¬ 
tuous  in  respect  of  the  influence  which  his  supposed  good  looks  have  gained 
Jiim  among  the  Grecian  dames.” 

“  He  was  too  presumptuous,  I  suppose,”  said  Achilles  Tatius,  “  to  make  a 
proper  allowance  for  his  situation  as  Caesar,  and  the  prospect  of  his  being 
Emperor.” 

“  Meantime,”  said  Agelastes,  “I  have  promised  him  an  interview  with 
his  Bradamante,  who  may  perhaps  reward  his  tender  epithets  of  Zoe  kai 
jnii/che,*  by  divorcing  his  amorous  soul  from  his  unrivalled  person.” 


•  “  Life  and  Soul.*’ 


144 


W  A  V  E  R  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 


“  Meantime,”  said  the  Follower,  “thou  obtainest,  I  conclude,  such  orders 
and  warrants  as  the  Caesar  can  give  for  the  furtherance  of  our  plot?” 

“  Assuredly,”  said  Agelastes,  “  it  is  an  opportunity  not  to  be  lost.  This 
lov’e  fit,  or  mad  fit,  has  blinded  him ;  and  without  exciting  too  much  atten¬ 
tion  to  the  progress  of  the  plot,  we  can  thus  in  safety  conduct  matters  our 
own  way,  without  causing  malevolent  remarks ;  and  though  I  am  conscious 
that,  in  doing  so,  I  act  somewhat  at  variance  with  my  age  and  character,  yet 
the  end  being  to  convert  a  worthy  Follower  into  an  Imperial  Leader,  I  shame 
me  not  in  procuring  that  interview  with  the  lady,  of  which  the  Csesar,  as 
they  term  him,  is  so  desirous. — What  progress,  meanwhile,  hast  thou  made 
with  the  Varangians,  who  are,  in  respect  of  execution,  the  very  arm  of  our 
design  ?” 

“  Scarce  so  good  as  I  could  wish,”  said  Achilles  Tatius  ;  “  yet  I  have  made 
sure  of  some  two  or  three  score  of  those  whom  I  found  most  accessible ;  nor 
have  I  any  doubt,  that  when  the  Caesar  is  set  aside,  their  cry  will  be  for 
Achilles  Tatius.” 

“  And  what  of  the  gallant  who  assisted  at  our  prelections?”  said  Agelas¬ 
tes  ;  “  your  Edward,  as  Alexius  termed  him  ?” 

“  I  have  made  no  impression  upon  him,”  said  the  Follower;  “and  I  am 
sorry  for  it,  for  he  is  one  whom  his  comrades  think  well  of,  and  would  gladly 
follow.  Meantime  I  have  placed  him  as  an  additional  sentinel  upon  the 
iron-witted  Count  of  Paris,  whom,  both  having  an  inveterate  love  of  battle, 
he  is  very  likely  to  put  to  death  ;  and  if  it  is  afterwards  challenged  by  the 
crusaders  as  a  cause  of  war,  it  is  only  delivering  up  the  Varangian,  whose 
personal  hatred  will  needs  be  represented  as  having  occasioned  the  catas¬ 
trophe.  All  this  being  prepared  beforehand,  how  and  when  shall  we  deal 
with  the  Emperor?” 

“  For  that,”  said  Agelastes,  “  we  must  consult  the  Caesar,  who,  although 
his  expected  happiness  of  to-day  is  not  more  certain  than  the  state  prefer¬ 
ment  that  he  expects  to-morrow,  and  although  his  ideas  are  much  more 
anxiously  fixed  upon  his  success  with  this  said  Countess  than  his  succession 
to  the  empire,  will,  nevertheless,  expect  to  be  treated  as  the  head  of  the 
enterprise  for  accelerating  the  latter.  But,  to  speak  my  opinion,  valiant 
Tatius,  to-morrow  will  be  the  last  da}"  that  Alexius  shall  hold  the  reins  of 
empire.” 

“  Let  me  know  for  certain,”  said  the  Follower,  “  as  soon  as  thou  canst, 
that  I  may  warn  our  brethren,  who  are  to  have  in  readiness  the  insurgent 
citizens,  and  those  of  the  Immortals  who  are  combined  with  us,  in  the  neigh¬ 
bourhood  of  the  court,  and  in  readiness  to  act  —  And,  above  al),  that  I  may 
disperse  upon  distant  guards  such  Varangians  as  I  cannot  trust.” 

“  Kely  upon  me,”  said  Agelastes,  “  for  the  most  accurate  information 
and  instructions,  so  soon  as  I  have  seen  Nicephorus  Briennius.  One 
word  permit  me  to  ask  —  in  what  manner  is  the  wife  of  the  Csesar  to  be 
disposed  of?” 

“Somewhere,”  said  the  Follower,  “where  I  can  never  be  compelled  to 
hear  more  of  her  history.  Were  it  not  for  that  nightly  pest  of  her  lectures, 
I  could  be  good-natured  enough  to  take  care  of  her  destiny  myself,  and 
teach  her  the  difference  betwixt  a  real  emperor  and  this  Briennius,  who 
thinks  so  much  of  himself.”  So  saying,  they  separated  ;  the  Follower 
elated  in  look  and  manner  considerably  above  what  he  had  been  when 
tliey  met. 

Agelastes  looked  after  his  companion  with  a  scornful  laugh.  “  There,” 
he  said,  “  goes  a  fool,  whose  lack  of  sense  prevents  his  eyes  from  being 
dazzled  by  the  torch  which  cannot  fail  to  consume  them.  A  half-bred,  half- 
acting,  half-thinking,  half-daring  caitiff,  whose  poorest  thoughts — and  those 
which  deserve  that  name  must  be  poor  indeed  —  are  not  the  produce  of  his 
own  understanding.  lie  expects  to  circumvent  the  fiery,  haughty,  and 
proud  Nicephorus  Briennius  !  If  he  does  so,  it  will  not  be  by  his  own  policy, 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


145 


and  still  less  by  Ins  valour.  Nor  shall  Anna  Comnena,  the  soul  of  wit  and 
genius,  be  chained  to  such  an  unimaginative  log  as  yonder  half-barbarian. 
No  —  she  shall  have  a  husband  of  pure  Grecian  extraction,  and  well  stored 
with  that  learning  which  was  studied  when  Kome  was  great,  and  Greece 
illustrious.  Nor  will  it  be  the  least  charm  of  the  Imperial  throne,  that  it  is 
partaken  by  a  partner  whose  personal  studies  have  taught  her  to  esteem  and 
value  those  of  the  Emperor.^^  He  took  a  step  or  two  with  conscious  eleva¬ 
tion,  and  then,  as  conscience-checked,  he  added,  in  a  suppressed  voice, 
“  But  then,  if  Anna  were  destined  for  Empress,  it  follows  of  course  that 
Alexius  must  die  —  no  consent  could  be  trusted.  —  And  what  then  ?  —  the 
death  of  an  ordinary  man  is  indifferent,  when  it  plants  on  the  throne  a 
philosopher  and  a  historian  ;  and  at  what  time  were  possessors  of  the  empire 
curious  to  enquire  when  or  by  whose  agency  their  predecessors  died?  — 
Diogenes !  IIo,  Diogenes  The  slave  did  not  immediately  come,  so  that 
Agelastes,  wrapt  in  the  anticipation  of  his  greatness,  had  time  to  add  a  few 
more  words — “  Tush — I  must  reckon  with  Heaven,  say  the  priests,  for  many 
things,  so  I  will  throw  this  also  into  the  account.  The  death  of  the  Emperor 
may  be  twenty  ways  achieved  without  my  having  the  blame  of  it.  The 
blood  which  we  have  shed  may  spot  our  hand,  if  closely  regarded,  but  it 
shall  scarce  stain  our  forehead.^'  Diogenes  here  entered — “Has  the  Frank 
lady  been  removed  said  the  philosopher. 

The  slave  signitied  his  assent. 

“  How  did  she  bear  her  removal?’^ 

“  As  authorised  by  your  lordship,  indifferently  well.  She  had  resented 
her  separation  from  her  husband,  and  her  being  detained  in  the  palace,  and 
committed  some  violence  upon  the  slaves  of  the  Household,  several  of  whom 
were  said  to  be  slain,  although  we  perhaps  ought  only  to  read  sorely  fright¬ 
ened.  She  recognised  me  at  once,  and  when  I  told  her  that  I  came  to  offer 
her  a  day’s  retirement  in  your  own  lodgings,  until  it  should  be  in  your  power 
to  achieve  the  liberation  of  her  husband,  she  at  once  consented,  and  I 
deposited  her  in  the  secret  Cytherean  garden-house.” 

“  Admirably  done,  my  faithful  Diogenes,”  said  the  philosopher ;  “  thou 
art  like  the  genii  who  attended  on  the  Eastern  talisman ;  I  have  but  to  in¬ 
timate  my  will  to  thee,  and  it  is  accomplished.” 

Diogenes  bowed  deeply,  and  withdrew. 

“  Yet  remember,  slave!”  said  Agelastes,  speaking  to  himself;  “there  is 
danger  in  knowing  too  much  —  and  should  my  character  ever  become 
questioned,  too  many  of  my  secrets  are  in  the  power  of  Diogenes.” 

At  this  moment  a  blow  thrice  repeated,  and  struck  upon  one  of  the  images 
without,  which  had  been  so  framed  as  to  return  a  tingling  sound,  and  in  so 
ffir  deserved  the  praise  of  being  vocal,  interrupted  his  soliloquy. 

“  There  knocks,”  said  he,  “  one  of  our  allies ;  who  can  it  be  that  conies 
so  late?”  He  touched  the  figure  of  Iris  with  his  staff,  and  the  Caesar  Nice- 
phorus  Briennius  entered  in  the  full  Grecian  habit,  and  that  graceful  dress 
anxiously  arranged  to  the  best  advantage.  “  Let  me  hope,  my  Lord,”  said 
Agelastes,  receiving  the  Caesar  with  an  apparently  grave  and  reserved  face, 
“  your  Highness  comes  to  tell  me  that  your  sentiments  are  changed  on 
reflection,  and  that  whatever  you  had  to  confer  about  with  this  Frankish 
lady,  may  be  at  least  deferred  until  the  principal  part  of  our  conspiracy  has 
been  successfully  executed.” 

“  Philosopher,”  answered  the  Caesar,  “  no.  My  resolution,  once  taken, 
is  not  the  sport  of  circumstances.  Believe  me,  that  I  have  not  finished  so 
many  labours  without  being  ready  to  undertake  others.  The  favour  of 
Venus  is  the  reward  of  the  labours  of  Mars,  nor  would  I  think  it  worth 
while  to  worship  the  god  armipotent  with  the  toil  and  risk  attending  his 
service,  unless  1  had  previously  attained  some  decided  proofs  that  I  was 
wreathed  with  the  myrtle,  intimating  the  favour  of  his  beautiful  mistress.” 

“  I  beg  pardon  for  my  boldness,”  said  Agelastes ;  “  but  has  your  Imperial 

Yol.  XI I,  — 10  N 


146 


WAVER  LEY  NOVELS. 


Highness  reflected,  that  you  were  wagering,  with  the  wildest  rashness,  an 
empire,  including  thine  own  life,  mine,  and  all  who  are  joined  with  us,  in  a 
hardy  scheme?  And  against  what  were  they  waged?  Against  the  very 
precarious  favour  of  a  woman,  who  is  altogether  divided  betwixt  fiend  and 
female,  and  in  either  capacity  is  most  likely  to  be  fatal  to  our  present 
scheme,  either  by  her  good  will,  or  by  the  offence  which  she  may  take.  If 
she  prove  such  as  you  wish,  she  will  desire  to  keep  her  lover  by  her  side, 
and  to  spare  him  the  danger  of  engaging  in  a  perilous  conspiracy  ;  and  if 
she  remains,  as  the  world  believe  her,  constant  to  her  husband,  and  to  the 
sentiments  she  vowed  to  him  at  the  altar,  you  may  guess  what  cause  of 
offence  you  are  likely  to  give,  by  urging  a  suit  which  she  has  already  received 
so  very  ill.^^ 

“  Pshb,w,  old  man !  Thou  turnest  a  dotard,  and  in  the  great  knowledge 
thou  possessest  of  other  things,  hast  forgotten  the  knowledge  best  worth 
knowing  —  that  of  the  beautiful  part  of  the  creation.  Think  of  the  im¬ 
pression  likely  to  be  made  by  a  gallant  neither  ignoble  in  situation,  nor 
unacceptable  in  presence,  upon  a  lady  wdio  must  fear  the  consequences  of 
refusal !  Come,  Agelastes,  let  me  have  no  more  of  thy  croaking,  auguring 
bad  fortune  like  the  raven  from  the  blasted  oak  on  the  left  hand  ;  but  de¬ 
claim,  as  well  thou  canst,  how  faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady,  and  how  those 
best  deserve  empire  who  can  wreathe  the  myrtles  of  Venus  with  the  laurels 
of  Mars.  Come,  man,  undo  me  the  secret  entrance  which  combines  these 
magical  ruins  with  groves  that  are  fashioned  rather  like  those  of  Cytheros 
or  Naxos.^^ 

“  It  must  be  as  you  will  said  the  philosopher,  with  a  deep  and  somewhat 
affected  sigh. 

“  Here,  Diogenes  \”  called  aloud  the  Caesar ;  “  when  thou  art  summoned, 
mischief  is  not  far  distant.  Come,  undo  the  secret  entran^^.  Mischief, 
my  trusty  negro,  is  not  so  distant  but  she  will  answer  the  first  clatter  of 
the  stones.^^ 

The  negro  looked  at  his  master,  who  returned  him  a  glance  acquiescing 
in  the  Caesar’s  proposal.  Diogenes  then  went  to  a  part  of  the  ruined  w^all 
which  was  covered  by  some  climbing  shrubs,  all  of  which  he  carefully 
removed.  This  showed  a  little  postern  door,  closed  irregularly,  and  filled 
up,  from  the  threshold  to  the  top,  with  large  square  stones,  all  of  which  the 
slave  took  out  and  piled  aside,  as  if  for  the  purpose  of  replacing  them.  “  I 
leave  thee,”  said  Agelastes  to  the  negro,  “  to  guard  this  door,  and  let  no 
one  enter,  except  he  has  the  sign,  upon  the  peril  of  thy  life.  It  were  dan¬ 
gerous  it  should  be  left  open  at  this  period  of  the  day.” 

The  obsequious  Diogenes  put  his  hand  to  his  sabre  and  to  his  head,  as  if 
to  signify  the  usual  promise  of  fidelity  or  death,  by  which  those  in  his  con¬ 
dition  generally  expressed  their  answer  to  their  master’s  commands.  Dio¬ 
genes  then  lighted  a  small  lantern,  and  pulling  out  a  key,  opened  an  inner! 
door  of  wood,  and  prepared  to  step  forward.  * 

“  Hold,  friend  Diogenes,”  said  the  Coesar ;  “  thou  wantest  not  my  lantern 
to  discern  an  honest  man,  whom,  if  thou  didst  seek,  I  must  needs  say  thou 
hast  come  to  the  wrong  place  to  find  one.  Nail  thou  up  these  creeping 
shrubs  before  the  entrance  of  the  place,  and  abide  thou  there  as  already 
directed,  till  our  return,  to  parry  the  curiosity  of  any  who  may  be  attracted 
by  the  sight  of  the  private  passage.” 

The  black  slave  drew  back  as  he  gave  the  lamp  to  the  Caesar,  and  Age¬ 
lastes  followed  the  light  through  a  long,  but  narrow,  arched  passage,  well 
supplied  with  air  from  space  to  space,  and  not  neglected  in  the  inside  to  the 
degree  which  its  exterior  w'ould  have  implied. 

“  I  will  not  enter  wdth  you  into  the  Gardens,”  said  Agelastes,  “  or  to  the 
bower  of  Cytherea,  where  I  am  too  old  to  be  a  worshipper.  Thou  thyself,^  I 
think.  Imperial  Caesar,  art  well  aware  of  the  road,  having  travelled  it  divers 
times  I  and,  if  I  mistake  not,  for  the  fairest  reasons.” 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


147 

“  The  more  thanks,”  said  the  Caesar,  “  are  due  to  mine  excellent  friend 
Agelastes,  who  forgets  his  own  age  to  accommodate  the  youth  of  his 
friends.” 


Cliapttr  tijj  igigljtttntli. 

"We  must  now  return  to  the  dungeon  of  the  Blacquernal,  where  circum¬ 
stances  had  formed  at  least  a  temporary  union  between  the  stout  Varangian 
and  Count  Rnbert  of  Paris,  who  had  a  stronger  resemblance  to  each  other 
in  their  dispositions  than  probably  either  of  them  would  have  been  willing 
to  admit.  The  virtues  of  the  Varangian  were  all  of  that  natural  and  unre¬ 
fined  kind  which  Nature  herself  dictates  to  a  gallant  man,  to  whom  a  total 
want  of  fear,  and  the  most  prompt  alacrity  to  meet  danger,  had  been  attri¬ 
butes  of  a  life-long  standing.  The  Count,  on  the  other  hand,  had  all  that 
bravery,  generosity,  and  love  of  adventure,  which  was  possessed  by  the 
rude  soldier,  with  the  virtues,  partly  real,  partly  fantastic,  which  those  of 
his  rank  find  country  acquired  from  the  spirit  of  chivalry.  The  one  might 
be  compared  to  the  diamond  as  it  came  from  the  mine,  before  it  had  yet 
received  the  advantages  of  cutting  and  setting ;  the  other  was  the  orna¬ 
mented  gem,  which,  cut  into  facets  and  richly  set,  had  lost  perhaps  a  little 
of  its  original  substance,  yet  still,  at  the  same  time,  to  the  eye  of  an  in¬ 
spector,  had  something  more  showy  and  splendid  than  when  it  was,  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  phrase  of  lapidaries,  en  brut.  In  the  one  case,  the  value  was 
more  artificial ;  in  the  other,  it  was  the  more  natural  and  real  of  the  two. 
Chance,  therefore,  had  made  a  temporary  alliance  between  two  men,  the 
foundation  of  whose  characters  bore  such  strong  resemblance  to  each  other, 
that  they  were  only  separated  by  a  course  of  education,  which  had  left 
rigid  prejudices  on  both  sides,  and  which  prejudices  were  not  unlikely  to 
run  counter  to  each  other.  The  Varangian  commenced  his  conversation 
with  the  Count  in  a  tone  of  familiarity,  approaching  nearer  to  rudeness 
than  the  speaker  was  aware  of,  and  much  of  which,  though  most  innocently 
intended  by  llereward,  might  be  taken  amiss  by  his  new  brother  in  arms. 
The  most  ojBfensive  part  of  his  deportment,  however,  was  a  blunt,  bold  dis¬ 
regard  to  the  title  of  those  wdiom  he  addressed,  adhering  thereby  to  the 
manners  of  the  Saxons,  from  whom  he  drew  his  descent,  and  which  was 
likely  to  be  at  least  unpleasing  to  the  Franks  as  well  as  Normans,  who  had 
already  received  and  become  very  tenacious  of  the  privileges  of  the  feudal 
system,  the  mummery  of  heraldry,  and  the  warlike  claims  assumed  by 
knights,  as  belonging  only  to  their  own  order. 

llereward  w’as  apt,  it  must  be  owned,  to  think  too  little  of  these  distinc¬ 
tions  ;  while  he  had  at  least  a  sufficient  tendency  to  think  enough  of  the 
power  and  wealth  of  the  Greek  empire  wdiich  he  served,  —  of  the  dignity 
inherent  in  Alexius  Comnenus,  and  wdiich  he  was  also  disposed  to  grant  to 
the  Grecian  officers,  who,  under  the  Emperor,  commanded  his  own  corps, 
and  particularly  to  Achilles  Tatius.  This  man  llereward  knew  to  be  a 
coward,  and  half-suspected  to  be  a  villain.  Still,  however,  the  Follower 
was  always  the  direct  channel  through  w'hich  the  Imperial  graces  were 
conferred  on  the  Varangians  in  general,  as  well  as  upon  llereward  himself; 
and  he  had  always  the  policy  to  represent  such  favours  as  being  more  or 
less  indirectly  the  consequence  of  his  own  intercession.  lie  was  supposed 
vigorously  to  espouse  the  quarrel  of  the  Varangians,  in  all  the  disputes  be¬ 
tween  them  and  the  other  corps ;  he  was  liberal  and  open-handed ;  gave 
every  soldier  his  due ;  and,  bating  the  trifling  circumstance  of  valour,  which 
was  not  particularly  his  forte,  it  w^ould  have  been  difficult  for  these  strangers 


148 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


to  have  demanded  a  leader  more  to  their  wishes.  Besides  this,  our  friend 
Iloreward  was  admitted  by  him  into  his  society,  attended  him,  as  we  have 
seen,  upon  secret  expeditions,  and  shared,  therefore,  deeply,  in  what  may 
be  termed  by  an  expressive,  though  vulgar  phrase,  the  sneaking  kindness 
entertained  for  this  new  Achilles  by  the  greater  part  of  his  myrmidons. 

Their  attachment  might  be  explained,  perhaps,  as  a  liking  to  their  com¬ 
mander,  as  strong  as  could  well  exist  with  a  marvellous  lack  of  honour  and 
esteem.  The  scheme,  therefore,  formed  by  Hereward  to  effect  the  deliver¬ 
ance  of  the  Count  of  Paris,  comprehended  as  much  faith  to  the  Emperor, 
and  his  representative,  the  Acolyte  or  Follower,  as  was  consistent  with  ren¬ 
dering  jusdce  to  the  injured  Frank. 

In  furtherance  of  this  plan,  he  conducted  Count  Robert  from  the  subter¬ 
ranean  vaults  of  the  Blacquernal,  of  the  intricacies  of  which  he  was  master, 
having  been  repeatedly,  of  late,  stationed  sentinel  there,  for  the  purpose  of 
acquiring  that  knowledge  of  which  Tatius  promised  himself  the  advantage 
in  the  ensuing  conspiracy.  When  they  were  in  the  open  air,  and  at  some 
distance  from  the  gloomy  towers  of  the  Palace,  he  bluntly  asked  the  Count 
of  Paris  whether  he  knew  Agelastes  the  Philosopher.  The  other  answered 
in  the  negative. 

“Look  you  now.  Sir  Knight,  you  hurt  yourself  in  attempting  to  impose 
upon  me,^^  said  Hereward.  “  You  must  know  him ;  for  I  saw  you  dined 
with  him  yesterday 

“  0  !  with  that  learned  old  man  V’  said  the  Count.  “  I  know  nothing  of 
him  worth  owning  or  disguising  to  thee  or  any  one.  A  wily  person  he  is, 
half  herald  and  half  minstrel.’^ 

“Half  procurer  and  whole  knave,’^  subjoined  the  Varangian.  “With 
the  mask  of  apparent  good-humour  he  conceals  his  pandering  to  the  vices 
of  others ;  with  the  specious  jargon  of  philosophy,  he  has  argued  himself 
out  of  religious  belief  and  moral  principle ;  and,  with  the  appearance  of 
the  most  devoted  loyalty,  he  will,  if  he  is  not  checked  in  time,  either  argue 
'  his  too  confiding  master  out  of  life  and  empire,  or,  if  he  fails  in  this,  reason 
his  simple  associates  into  death  and  misery.^^ 

“  And  do  you  know  all  this,^^  said  Count  Robert,  “  and  permit  this  man 
to  go  unimpeached 

“0,  content  you,  sir,^^  replied  the  Varangian  ;  “I  cannot  yet  form  any 
plot  which  Agelastes  may  not  countermine ;  but  the  time  will  come,  nay  it 
is  already  approaching,  when  the  Emperor’s  attention  shall  be  irresistibly 
turned  to  the  conduct  of  this  man,  and  then  let  the  philosopher  sit  fast,  or 
by  St.  Dunstan  the  barbarian  overthrows  him  !  I  would  only  fain,  me- 
thinks,  save  from  his  clutches  a  foolish  friend,  who  has  listed  to  his  delu¬ 
sions.” 

“  But  what  have  I  to  do,”  said  the  Count,  “  with  this  man,  or  with  his 
plots  ?” 

“  Much,”  said  Hereward,  “  although  you  know  it  not.  The  main  sup¬ 
porter  of  this  plot  is  no  other  than  the  Caesar,  who  ought  to  be  the  most 
faithful  of  men ;  but  ever  since  Alexius  has  named  a  Sebastocrator,  an 
oflicer  that  is  higher  in  rank,  and  nearer  to  the  throne  than  the  Caesar  him¬ 
self,  so  long  has  Nicephorus  Briennius  been  displeased  and  dissatisfied, 
though  for  what  length  of  time  he  has  joined  the  schemes  of  the  astucious 
Agelastes  it  is  more  difficult  to  say.  This  I  know,  that  for  many  months 
he  has  fed  liberally,  as  his  riches  enable  him  to  do,  the  vices  and  prodigality 
of  the  Caesar.  He  has  encouraged  him  to  show  disrespect  to  his  wife,  al¬ 
though  the  Emperor’s  daughter ;  has  put  ill-will  between  him  and  the  royal 
family.  And  if  Briennius  bears  no  longer  the  fame  of  a  rational  man,  and 
the  renown  of  a  good  leader,  he  is  deprived  of  both  by  following  the  advice 
of  this  artful  sycophant.” 

“And  what  is  all  this  to  me?”  said  the  Frank.  “Agelastes  maybe  a 
true  man  or  a  time-serving  slave ;  his  master,  Alexius  Comnenus,  is  not 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


140 


so  much  allied  to  me  or  mine  that  I  should  meddle  in  the  intrigues  of  his 
court.” 

“  You  may  be  mistaken  in  that,”  said  the  blunt  Varangian ;  if  these 
intrigues  involve  the  happiness  and  virtue” — i — 

”  Death  of  a  thousand  martyrs  !”  said  the  Frank,  “  doth  paltry  intrigues 
and  quarrels  of  slaves  involve  a  single  thought  of  suspicion  of  the  noble 
Countess  of  Paris  ?  The  oaths  of  thy  whole  generation  were  ineffectual  to 
prove  but  that  one  of  her  hairs  had  changed  its  colour  to  silver!” 

“Well  imagined,  gallant  knight,”  said  the  Anglo-Saxon;  “thou  art  a 
husband  fitted  for  the  atmosphere  of  Constantinople,  which  calls  for  little 
vigilance  and  a  strong  belief.  Thou  wilt  find  many  followers  and  fellows  in 
this  court  of  ours.” 

“  Hark  thee,  friend,”  replied  the  Frank,  “let  us  have  no  more  words,  nor 
walk  farther  together  than  just  to  the  most  solitary  nook  of  this  bewildered 
city,  and  let  us  there  set  to  that  work  which  we  left  even  now  unfinished.” 

“  If  thou  wert  a  Duke,  Sir  Count,”  replied  the  Varangian,  “thou  couldst 
not  invite  to  a  combat  one  who  is  more  ready  for  it.  Yet  consider  the  odds 
on  which  we  fight.  If  I  fall,  my  moan  is  soon  made ;  but  will  my  death 
set  thy  wife  at  liberty  if  she  is  under  restraint,  or  restore  her  honour  if  it 
is  tarnished? — Will  it  do  any  thing  more  than  remove  from  the  world  the 
only  person  who  is  willing  to  give  thee  aid,  at  his  own  risk  and  danger, 
and  who  hopes  to  unite  thee  to  thy  wife,  and  replace  thee  at  the  head  of  thy 
forces  ?” 

“  I  was  wrong,”  said  the  Count  of  Paris  ;  “  I  was  entirely  wrong ;  but  ^ 
beware,  my  good  friend,  how  thou  couplest  the  name  of  Brenhilda  of 
Aspramonte  with  the  word  of  dishonour,  and  tell  me,  instead  of  this  irri-' 
tating  discourse,  whither  go  we  now  ?” 

“  To  the  Cytherean  gardens  of  Agelastes,  from  which  we  are  not  far 
distant,”  said  the  Anglo-Saxon ;  “  yet  he  hath  a  nearer  way  to  it  than  that 
by  which  w'e  now  travel,  else  I  should  be  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  short 
space  in  which  he  could  exchange  the  charms  of  his  garden  for  the  gloomy 
ruins  of  the  Temple  of  Isis,  and  the  Imperial  palace  of  the  Blacquernal.” 

“  And  wherefore,  and  how  long,”  said  Count  Robert,  “  dost  thou  conclude 
that  my  Countess  is  detained  in  these  gardens  ?” 

“  Ever  since  yesterday,”  replied  Ilereward.  “  When  both  I,  and  several 
of  my  companions,  at  my  request,  kept  close  watch  upon  the  Caesar  and 
your  lady,  we  did  plainly  perceive  passages  of  fiery  admiration  on  his  part, 
and  anger  as  it  seemed  on  hers,  which  Agelastes,  being  Nicephorus’s  friend, 
was  likely,  as  usual,  to  bring  to  an  end,  by  a  separation  of  you  both  from 
the  army  of  the  crusaders,  that  your  wife,  like  many  a  matron  before,  might 
have  the  pleasure  of  taking  up  her  residence  in  the  gardens  of  that  worthy 
sage  ;  while  you,  my  Lord,  might  take  up  your  own  permanently  in  the  castle 
of  Blacquernal.” 

“  Villain  !  why  didst  thou  not  apprize  me  of  this  yesterday?” 

“  A  likely  thing,”  said  Ilereward,  “  that  I  should  feel  myself  at  liberty 
to  leave  the  ranks,  and  make  such  a  communication  to  a  man,  whom,  far 
from  a  friend,  I  then  considered  in  the  light  of  a  personal  enemy !  Me- 
thinks,  that  instead  of  such  language  as  this,  you  should  be  thankful  that 
so  many  chance  circumstances  have  at  length  brought  me  to  befriend  and 
assist  you.” 

Count  Robert  felt  the  truth  of  what  was  said,  though  at  the  same  time 
his  fiery  temper  longed  to  avenge  itself,  according  to  its  wont,  upon  the 
party  which  was  nearest  at  hand. 

But  now  they  arrived  at  what  the  citizens  of  Constantinople  called  tho 
Philosopher’s  Gardens.  Here  Ilereward  hoped  to  obtain  entrance,  for  he 
had  gained  a  knowledge  of  some  part,  at  least,  of  the  private  signals  of 
Achilles  and  Agelastes,  since  he  had  been  introduced  to  the  last  at  the 
ruins  of  the  Temple  of  Isis.  They  had  not  indeed  admitted  him  to  their 

i> 


150 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


entire  secret;  yet,  confident  in  his  connexion  with  the  Follower,  they  had 
no  hesitation  in  communicating  to  him  snatches  of  knowledge,  such  as, 
committed  to  a  man  of  shrewd  natural  sense  like  the  Anglo-Saxon,  could 
scarce  fail,  in  time  and  by  degrees,  to  make  him  master  of  the  whole. 
Count  Robert  and  his  companion  stood  before  an  arched  door,  the  only 
opening  in  a  high  wall,  and  the  Anglo-Saxon  was  about  to  knock,  when, 
as  if  the  idea  had  suddenly  struck  him, — 

“What  if  the  wretch  Diogenes  opens  the  gate?  We  must  kill  him,  ere 
he  can  fly  back  and  betray  us.  Well,  it  is  a  matter  of  necessity,  and  the 
villain  has  deserved  his  death  by  a  hundred  horrid  crimes. 

“  Kill  him  then,  thyself, retorted  Count  Robert ;  “  he  is  nearer  thy 
degree,  and  assuredly  I  will  not  defile  the  name  of  Charlemagne  with  the 
blood  of  a  black  slave.^^ 

“Nay,  God-a-mercy  answered  the  Anglo-Saxon,  “but  you  must  bestir 
yourself  in  the  action,  supposing  there  come  rescue,  and  that  I  be  over¬ 
borne  by  odds.'^ 

“  Such  odds,'^  said  the  knight,  “  will  render  the  action  more  like  a  meZee, 
or  general  battle ;  and  assure  yourself,  I  will  not  be  slack  when  I  may, 
with  my  honour,  be  active.^^ 

“I  doubt  it  not,^^  said  the  Varangian;  “but  the  distinction  seems  a 
strange  one,  that  before  permitting  a  man  to  defend  himself,  or  annoy  his 
enemy,  requires  him  to  demand  the  pedigree  of  his  ancestor.^^ 

“  Fear  you  not,  sir,^^  said  Count  Robert.  “  The  strict  rule  of  chivalry 
indeed  bears  what  I  tell  thee,  but  when  the  question  is.  Fight  or  not  ?  there 
is  great  allowance  to  be  made  for  a  decision  in  the  affirmative.’^ 

“  Let  me  give  then  the  exerciser’s  rap,”  replied  Hereward,  “  and  see 
what  fiend  will  appear.” 

So  saying,  he  knocked  in  a  particular  manner,  and  the  door  opened  in¬ 
wards ;  a  dwarfish  negress  stood  in  the  gap  —  her  white  hair  contrasted 
singularly  with  her  dark  complexion,  and  with  the  broad  laughing  look 
peculiar  to  those  slaves.  She  had  something  in  her  physiognomy  which, 
severely  construed,  might  argue  malice,  and  a  delight  in  human  misery. 

“Is  Agelastes” - said  the  Varangian  ;  but  he  had  not  completed  the 

sentence, ’when  she  answered  him,  by  pointing  down  a  shadowed  walk. 

The  Anglo-Saxon  and  Frank  turned  in  that  direction,  when  the  hag 
rather  muttered,  than  said  distinctly,  “You  are  one  of  the  initiated, 
Varangian;  take  heed  whom  you  take  with  you,  when  you  may  hardly, 
peradventure,  be  welcomed  even  going  alone.” 

Hereward  made  a  sign  that  he  understood  her,  and  they  were  instantly 
out  of  her  sight.  The  path  winded  beautifully  through  the  shades  of  an 
Eastern  garden,  where  clumps  of  flowers  and  labyrinths  of  flowering 
shrubs,  and  the  tall  boughs  of  the  forest  trees,  rendered  even  the  breath  of 
noon  cool  and  acceptable. 

“  Here  we  must  use  our  utmost  caution,”  said  Hereward,  speaking  in  a 
low  tone  of  voice;  “for  here  it  is  most  likely  the  deer  that  we  seek  has 
found  its  refuge.  Better  allow  me  to  pass  before,  since  you  are  too  deeply 
agitated  to  possess  the  coolness  necessary  for  a  scout.  Keep  concealed 
beneath  yon  oak,  and  let  no  vain  scruples  of  honour  deter  you  from  creeping 
beneath  the  underwood,  or  beneath  the  earth  itself,  if  you  should  hear  a 
footfall.  If  the  lovers  have  agreed,  Agelastes,  it  is  probable,  walks  his 
round,  to  prevent  intrusion.” 

“  Death  and  furies  !  it  cannot  be  !”  exclaimed  the  fiery  Frank.  —  “  Lady 
of  the  Broken  Lances,  take  thy  votary’s  life,  ere  thou  torment  him  with 
this  agony !” 

He  saMq  however,  the  necessity  of  keeping  a  strong  force  upon  himself, 
and  permitted,  without  further  remonstrance,  the  Varangian  to  pursue  his 
way,  looking,  however,  earnestly  after  him. 

By  advancing  forward  a  little,  he  could  observe  Hereward  draw  near  to 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


151 


a  pavilion  which  arose  at  no  great  distance  from  the  place  where  they  had 
parted.  Here  he  observed  him  apply,  first  his  eye,  and  then  his  ear,  to 
one  of  the  casements,  which  were  in  a  great  measure  grown  over,  and  ex- 
deluded  from  the  light,  by  various  flowering  shrubs.  lie  almost  thought 
he  saw  a  grave  interest  take  place  in  the  countenance  of  the  Varangian, 
and  he  longed  to  have  his  share  of  the  information  which  he  had  doubtless 
obtained. 

He  crept,  therefore,  with  noiseless  steps,  through  the  same  labyrinth  of 
foliage  which  had  covered  the  approaches  of  Ilereward ;  and  so  silent  were 
his  movements,  that  he  touched  the  Anglo-Saxon,  in  order  to  make  him 
aware  of  his  presence,  before  he  observed  his  approach. 

Ilereward,  not  aware  at  first  by  whom  he  was  approached,  turned  on  the 
intruder  with  a  countenance  like  a  burning  coal.  Seeing,  however,  that  it 
was  the  Frank,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  if  pitying  the  impatience 
which  could  not  be  kept  under  prudent  restraint,  and  drawing  himself  back 
allowed  the  Count  the  privilege  of  a  peeping  place  through  plinths  of  the 
casement,  which  could  not  be  discerned  by  the  sharpest  eye  from  the  inner 
side.  The  sombre  character  of  the  light  which  penetrated  into  this  abode 
of  pleasure,  was  suited  to  that  species  of  thought  to  which  a  Temple  of 
Cytherea  was  supposed  to  be  dedicated.  Portraits  and  groups  of  statuary 
were  also  to  be  seen,  in  the  taste  of  those  which  they  had  beheld  at  the 
Kiosk  of  the  waterfall,  yet  something  more  free  in  the  ideas  wdiich  they 
conveyed  than  were  to  be  found  at  their  first  resting-place.  Shortly  after, 
the  door  of  the  pavilion  opened,  and  the  Countess  entered,  followed  by  her 
attendant  Agatha.  The  lady  threw  herself  on  a  couch  as  she  came  in,  while 
her  attendant,  who  was  a  young  and  very  handsome  woman,  kept  herself 
modestly  in  the  background,  so  much  so  as  hardly  to  be  distinguished. 

“What  dost  thou  think,”  said  the  Countess,  “of  so  suspicious  a  friend  as 
Agelastes?  so  gallant  an  enemy  as  the  Caesar,  as  he  is  called?” 

“  What  should  I  think,”  returned  the  damsel,  “  except  that  what  the  old 
man  calls  friendship  is  hatred,  and  what  the  Caesar  terms  a  patriotic  love 
for  his  country,  which  will  not  permit  him  to  set  its  enemies  at  liberty,  is 
in  fact  too  strong  an  affection  for  his  fair  captive  ?” 

“  For  such  an  affection,”  said  the  Countess,  “  he  shall  have  the  same 
requital  as  if  it  were  indeed  the  hostility  of  which  he  would  give  it  the 
colour.  —  My  true  and  noble  lord;  hadst  thou  an  idea  of  the  calamities  to 
w’hich  they  have  subjected  me,  how  soon  wouldst  thou  break  through  every 
restraint  to  hasten  to  my  relief!” 

“Art  thou  a  man,”  said  Count  Robert  to  his  companion;  “and  canst  thou 
advise  me  to  remain  still  and  hear  this  ?” 

“I  am  one  man,”  said  the  Anglo-Saxon;  “you,  sir,  are  another;  but  all 
our  arithmetic  will  not  make  us  more  than  two ;  and  in  this  place,  it  is  pro¬ 
bable  that  a  whistle  from  the  Caesar,  or  a  scream  from  Agelastes,  would 
bring  a  thousand  to  match  us,  if  we  w'ere  as  bold  as  Bevis  of  Hampton, — 
Stand  still  and  keep  quiet.  I  counsel  this,  less  as  respecting  my  own  life, 
which,  by  embarking  upon  a  wild-goose  chase  with  so  strange  a  partner,  I 
have  shown  I  put  at  little  value,  than  for  thy  safety,  and  that  of  the  lady 
thy  Countess,  who  shows  herself  as  virtuous  as  beautiful.” 

“  I  was  imposed  on  at  first,”  said  the  Lady  Brenhilda  to  her  attendant. 
“  Affectation  of  severe  morals,  of  deep  learning,  and  of  rigid  rectitude, 
assumed  by  this  wdeked  old  man,  made  me  believe  in  part  the  character 
which  he  pretended ;  but  the  gloss  is  rubbed  off  since  he  let  me  see  into  his 
alliance  with  the  unworthy  Caesar,  and  the  ugly  picture  remains  in  its  native 
loathsomeness.  Nevertheless,  if  I  can,  by  address  or  subtlety,  deceive  this 
arch-deceiver,  —  as  he  has  taken  from  me,  in  a  great  measure,  every  other 
kind  of  assistance,  —  I  will  not  refuse  that  of  craft,  which  he  may  find  per¬ 
haps  equal  to  his  own  ?” 

“Hear  you  that?”  said  the  Varangian  to  the  Count  of  Paris.  “Do  not 


152 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


let  your  impatience  mar  the  web  of  your  lady’s  prudence.  I  will  weigh  a 
woman’s  wit  against  a  man’s  valour  where  there  is  aught  to  do !  Let  us 
not  come  in  with  our  assistance  until  time  shall  show  us  that  it  is  necessary 
for  her  safety  and  our  success.” 

“  Amen,”  said  the  Count  of  Paris ;  “  hut  hope  not,  Sir  Saxon,  that  thy 
prudence  shall  persuade  me  to  leave  this  garden  without  taking  full  ven¬ 
geance  on  that  unworthy  Caesar,  and  the  pretended  philosopher,  if  indeed 
he  turns  out  to  have  assumed  a  character” - The  Count  was  here  begin¬ 

ning  to  raise  his  voice,  when  the  Saxon,  without  ceremony,  placed  his  hand 
on  his  mouth.  “  Thou  takest  a  liberty,”  said  Count  Robert,  lowering  how¬ 
ever  his  tones. 

“  Ay,  truly,”  said  Hereward ;  “  when  the  house  is  on  fire,  I  do  not  stop 
to  ask  whether  the  water  which  I  pour  on  it  be  perfumed  or  no.” 

This  recalled  the  Frank  to  a  sense  of  his  situation  ;  and  if  not  contented 
with  the  Saxon’s  mode  of  making  an  apology,  he  was  at  least  silenced.  A 
distant  noise  was  now  heard  —  the  Countess  listened,  and  changed  colour. 
“Agatha,”  she  said,  “we  are  like  champions  in  the  lists,  and  here  comes 
the  adversary.  Let  us  retreat  into  this  side  apartment,  and  so  for  a  while 
put  oflf  an  encounter  thus  alarming.”  So  saying,  the  two  females  withdrew 
into  a  sort  of  anteroom,  which  opened  from  the  principal  apartment  behind 
the  seat  which  Brenhilda  had  occupied. 

They  had  scarcely  disappeared,  when,  as  the  stage  direction  has  it,  enter 
from  the  other  side  the  Caesar  and  Agelastes.  They  had  perhaps  heard  the 
last  words  of  Brenhilda,  for  the  Caesar  repeated  in  a  low  tone — 

“  Milital  omnis  amans,  habet  et  sua  castra  Cupido. 

“  What,  has  our  fair  opponent  withdrawn  her  forces?  No  matter,  it  shows 
she  thinks  of  the  warfare,  though  the  enemy  be  not  in  sight.  Well,  thou 
shalt  not  have  to  upbraid  me  this  time,  Agelastes,  with  precipitating  my 
amours,  and  depriving  myself  of  the  pleasure  of  pursuit.  By  Heavens,  I 
will  be  as  regular  in  my  progress  as  if  in  reality  I  bore  on  my  shoulders 
the  whole  load  of  years  which  make  the  difference  between  us  ;  for  I 
shrewdly  suspect  that  with  thee,  old  man,  it  is  that  envious  churl  Time 
that  hath  plucked  the  wings  of  Cupid.” 

“  Say  not  so,  mighty  Csesar,”  said  the  old  man  ;  “  it  is  the  hand  of  Pru¬ 
dence,  which,  depriving  Cupid’s  wing  of  some  wild  feathers,  leaves  him  still 
enough  to  fly  with  an  equal  and  steady  flight.” 

“  Thy  flight,  however,  was  less  measured,  Agelastes,  when  thou  didst 
collect  that  armoury  —  that  magazine  of  Cupid’s  panoply,  out  of  which  thy 
kindness  permitted  me  but  now  to  arm  myself,  or  rather  to  repair  my  accou¬ 
trements.” 

So  saying,  he  glanced  his  eye  over  his  own  person,  blazing  with  gems,  and 
adorned  with  a  chain  of  gold,  bracelets,  rings,  and  other  ornaments,  which, 
with  a  new  and  splendid  habit,  assumed  since  his  arrival  at  these  Cytherean 
gardens,  tended  to  set  off  his  very  handsome  figure. 

“  I  am  glad,”  said  Agelastes,  “  if  you  have  found  among  toys,  which  I 
now  never  wear,  and  seldom  made  use  of  even  when  life  was  young  with 
me,  any  thing  which  may  set  off  your  natural  advantages.  Remember  only 
this  slight  condition,  that  such  of  these  trifles  as  have  made  part  of  your 
wearing  apparel  on  this  distinguished  day,  cannot  return  to  a  meaner  owner, 
but  must  of  necessity  remain  the  property  of  that  greatness  of  which  they 
had  once  formed  the  ornament.” 

“  I  cannot  consent  to  this,  my  worthy  friend,”  said  the  Caesar ;  “  I  know 
thou  valuest  these  jewels  only  in  so  far  as  a  philosopher  may  value  them  ; 
that  is,  for  nothing  save  the  remembrances  which  attach  to  them.  This 
large  seal-ring,  for  instance,  was  —  I  have  heard  you  say — the  property  of 
Socrates  ;  if  so,  you  cannot  view  it  save  with  devout  thankfulness,  that  your 
own  philosophy  has  never  been  tried  with  the  exercise  of  a  Xantippe. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


153 


These  clasps  released,  in  older  times,  the  lovely  bosom  of  Phr^me ;  and  tlmy 
now  belong  to  one  who  could  do  better  homage  to  the  beauties  they  con¬ 
cealed  or  discovered  than  could  the  cynic  Diogenes.  These  buckles, 
too  ” - 

“  I  will  spare  thy  ingenuity,  good  youth,’’  said  Agelastes,  somewhat  net¬ 
tled  ;  “  or  rather,  noble  Ca3sar.  Keep  thy  wit — thou  wilt  have  ample  occa¬ 
sion  for  it.” 

“  Fear  not  me,”  said  the  Ccesar.  “  Let  us  proceed,  since  you  will,  to 
exercise  the  gifts  which  we  possess,  such  as  they  are,  either  natural  or  be¬ 
queathed  to  us  by  our  dear  and  respected  friend.  Ilah !”  he  said,  the  door 
opening  suddenly,  and  the  Countess  almost  meeting  him,  “  our  wishes  are 
here  anticipated.” 

lie  bowed  accordingly  with  the  deepest  deference  to  the  Lady  Brenhilda, 
who,  having  made  some  alterations  to  enhance  the  splendour  of  her  attire, 
now  moved  forward  from  the  withdrawing-room  into  which  she  had  re¬ 
treated. 

“  Hail,  noble  lady,”  said  the  Caesar,  “  whom  I  have  visited  with  the 
intention  of  apologizing  for  detaining  you,  in  some  degree  against  your 
will,  in  those  strange  regions  in  which  you  unexpectedly  find  yourself.” 

“  Not  in  some  degree,”  answered  the  lady,  “  but  entirely  contrary  to  my 
inclinations,  w^hich  are,  to  bo  with  my  husband,  the  Count  of  Paris,  and 
the  followers  who  have  taken  the  cross  under  his  banner.” 

“  Such,  doubtless,  were  your  thoughts  when  you  left  the  land  of  the 
west,”  said  Agelastes ;  “  but,  fair  Countess,  have  they  experienced  no 
change?  You  have  left  a  shore  streaming  with  human  blood  when  the 
slightest  provocation  occurred,  and  thou  hast  come  to  one  whose  principal 
maxim  is  to  increase  the  sum  of  human  happiness  by  every  mode  which 
can  be  invented.  In  the  west  yonder,  he  or  she  is  respected  most  who  can 
best  exercise  their  tyrannical  strength  in  making  others  miserable,  while, 
in  these  more  placid  realms,  we  reserve  our  garlands  for  the  ingenious 
youth,  or  lovely  lady,  w'ho  can  best  make  happy  the  person  whose  affection 
IS  fixed  upon  her.” 

“  But,  reverend  philosopher,”  said  the  Countess,  “  who  labourest  so  arti¬ 
ficially  in  recommending  the  yoke  of  pleasure,  know  that  you  contradict 
every  notion  which  I  have  been  taught  from  my  infancy.  In  the  land 
where  my  nurture  lay,  so  far  are  we  from  acknowledging  your  doctrines, 
that  we  match  not,  except  like  the  lion  and  the  lioness,  when  the  male  has 
compelled  the  female  to  acknowledge  his  superior  worth  and  valour.  Such 
is  our  rule,  that  a  damsel,  even  of  mean  degree,  would  think  herself 
heinously  undermatched,  if  wedded  to  a  gallant  whose  fame  in  arms  was 
yet  unknown.” 

“  But,  noble  lady,”  said  the  Caesar,  “  a  dying  man  may  then  find  room 
for  some  faint  hope.  AVere  there  but  a  chance  that  distinction  in  arms 
could  gain  those  affections  which  have  been  stolen,  rather  than  fairly  con¬ 
ferred,  how  many  are  there  who  would  willingly  enter  into  the  competition 
where  the  prize  is  so  fair !  AFhat  is  the  enterprise  too  bold  to  be  under¬ 
taken  on  such  a  condition  !  And  where  is  the  individual  whose  heart  would 
not  feel,  that  in  baring  his  sword  for  the  prize,  he  made  vow  never  to  return 
it  to  the  scabbard  without  the  proud  boast,  AVhat  I  have  not  yet  won,  I  have 
deserved !” 

“  You  see,  lady,”  said  Agelastes,  who,  apprehending  that  the  last  speech 
of  the  Coesar  had  made  some. impression,  hastened  to  follow  it  up  with  a 
suitable  observation — “  You  see  that  the  fire  of  chivalry  burns  as  gallantly 
in  the  bosom  of  the  Grecians  as  in  that  of  the  western  nations.” 

“  Yes,”  answered  Brenhilda,  “  and  I  have  heard  of  the  celebrated  siege 
of  Troy,  on  which  occasion  a  dastardly  coward  carried  off  the  wife  of  a 
brave  man,  shunned  every  proffer  of  encounter  with  the  husband  whom  he 
had  wronged,  and  finally  caused  the  death  of  his  numerous  brothers,  the 


154 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


destruction  of  his  native  city,  with  all  the  wealth  which  it  contained,  and 
died  himself  the  death  of  a  pitiful  poltroon,  lamented  only  by  his  worthless 
leman,  to  show  bow  well  the  rules  of  chivalry  were  understood  by  your 
predecessors/’ 

“  Lady,  you  mistake/’  said  the  Caesar;  “  the  offences  of  Paris  were  those 
of  a  dissolute  Asiatic ;  the  courage  which  avenged  them  was  that  of  the 
Greek  Empire.” 

“  You  are  learned,  sir,”  said  the  lady ;  “  but  think  not  that  I  will  trust 
your  words  until  you  produce  before  me  a  Grecian  knight,  gallant  enough 
to  look  upon  the  armed  crest  of  my  husband  without  quaking.” 

“  That,  methinks,  were  not  extremely  difficult,”  returned  the  Caesar ;  “  if 
they  have  not  flattered  me,  I  have  myself  been  thought  equal  in  battle  to 
more  dangerous  men  than  him  who  has  been  strangely  mated  with  the  Lady 
Brenhilda.” 

“  That  is  soon  tried,”  answered  the  Countess.  “  You  will  hardly,  I  think, 
deny,  that  my  husband,  separated  from  me  by  some  unworthy  trick,  is  still 
at  thy  command,  and  could  be  produced  at  thy  pleasure.  I  will  ask  no 
armour  for  him  save  what  he  wears,  no  weapon  but  his  good  sword 
Tranchefer ;  then  place  him  in  this  chamber,  or  any  other  lists  equally 
narrow,  and  if  he  flinch,  or  cry  craven,  or  remain  dead  under  shield,  let 
Brenhilda  be  the  prize  of  the  conqueror.  —  Merciful  Heaven!”  she  con¬ 
cluded,  as  she  sunk  back  upon  her  seat,  “  forgive  me  for  the  crime  of  even 
imagining  such  a  termination,  which  is  equal  almost  to  doubting  thine  un¬ 
erring  judgment !” 

“  Let  me,  however,”  said  the  Caesar,  “  catch  up  these  precious  words 
before  they  fall  to  the  ground. — Let  me  hope  that  he,  to  whom  the  heavens 
shall  give  power  and  strength  to  conquer  this  highly-esteemed  Count  of 
Paris,  shall  succeed  him  in  the  affections  of  Brenhilda ;  and  believe  me,  the 
sun  plunges  not  through  the  sky  to  his  resting-place,  with  the  same  celerity 
that  I  shall  hasten  to  the  encounter.” 

“  Now,  by  Heaven  !”  said  Count  Robert,  in  an  anxious  whisper  to  Here- 
ward,  “  it  is  too  much  to  expect  me  to  stand  by  and  hear  a  contemptible 
Greek,  who  durst  not  stand  even  the  rattling  farewell  which  Tranchefer 
takes  of  his  scabbard,  brave  me  in  my  absence,  and  affect  to  make  love  to 
my  lady  par  amours  I  And  she,  too  —  methinks  Brenhilda  allows  more 
license  than  she  is  wont  to  do  to  yonder  chattering  popinjay.  By  the  rood ! 
I  will  spring  into  the  apartment,  front  them  with  my  personal  appearance, 
and  confute  yonder  braggart  in  a  manner  he  is  like  to  remember.” 

“Under  favour,”  said  the  Varangian,  who  was  the  only  auditor  of  this 
violent  speech,  “  you  shall  be  ruled  by  calm  reason  while  I  am  with  you. 
When  we  are  separated,  let  the  devil  of  knight-errantry,  which  has  such 
possession  of  thee,  take  thee  upon  his  shoulders,  and  carry  thee  full  tilt 
wheresoever  he  lists.” 

“  Thou  art  a  brute,”  said  the  Count,  looking  at  him  with  a  contempt  cor¬ 
responding  to  the  expression  he  made  use  of;  “  not  only  without  humanity, 
but  without  the  sense  of  natural  honour  or  natural  shame.  The  most 
despicable  of  animals  stands  not  by  tamely  and  sees  another  assail  his 
mate.  The  bull  offers  his  horns  to  a  rival — the  mastiff  uses  his  jaws — and 
even  the  timid  stag  becomes  furious,  and  gores.” 

“  Because  they  are  beasts,”  said  the  Varangian,  “  and  their  mistresses 
also  creatures  without  shame  or  reason,  who  are  not  aware  of  the  sanctity 
of  a  choice.  But  thou,  too.  Count,  canst  thou  not  see  the  obvious  purpose 
of  this  poor  lady,  forsaken  by  all  the  world,  to  keep  her  faith  towards  thee, 
by  eluding  the  snares  with  which  wicked  men  have  beset  her?  By  the 
souls  of  my  fathers!  my  heart  is  so  much  moved  by  her  ingenuity,  min¬ 
gled  as  I  see  it  is  with  the  most  perfect  candour  and  faith,  that  I  myself,  in 
fault  of  a  better  champion,  would  willingl}^  raise  the  axe  in  her  behalf!” 

“  1  thank  thee,  my  good  friend,”  said  the  Count ;  “  I  thank  thee  as  heart- 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


155 


ily  as  if  it  were  possible  thou  shouldst  be  left  to  do  that  good  office  for 
Brenhilda,  the  beloved  of  many  a  noble  lord,  the  mistress  of  many  a  pow¬ 
erful  vassal ;  and,  what  is  more,  much  more  than  thanks,  I  crave  thy  pardon 
for  the  wrong  I  did  thee  but  now.’^ 

“My  pardon  you  cannot  need,”  said  the  Varangian;  “for  I  take  no 
offence  that  is  not  seriously  meant.  —  Stay,  they  speak  again.” 

“  It  is  strange  it  should  be  so,”  said  the  Caesar,  as  he  paced  the  apart¬ 
ment;^”  but  methinks,  nay,  I  am  almost  certain,  Agelastes,  that  I  hear 
voices  in  the  vicinity  of  this  apartment  of  thy  privacy.” 

“  It  is  impossible,”  said  Agelastes  ;  “  but  I  will  go  and  see.” 

Perceiving  him  to  leave  the  pavilion,  the  Varangian  made  the  Frank  sen¬ 
sible  that  they  must  crouch  down  among  a  little  thicket  of  evergreens, 
where  they  lay  completely  obscured.  The  philosopher  made  his  rounds 
with  a  heavy  step,  but  a  watchful  eye ;  and  the  two  listeners  were  obliged 
to  observe  the  strictest  silence,  without  motion  of  any  kind,  until  he  had 
completed  an  ineffectual  search,  and  returned  into  the  pavilion. 

“  By  my  faith,  brave  man,”  said  the  Count,  “  ere  we  return  to  our  skulk- 
ing-place,  I  must  tell  thee  in  thine  ear,  that  never,  in  my  life,  was  tempta¬ 
tion  so  strong  upon  me,  as  that  which  prompted  me  to  beat  out  that  old 
hypocrite’s  brains,  provided  I  could  have  reconciled  it  with  my  honour ;  and 
heartily  do  I  wish  that  thou,  whose  honour  no  way  withheld  thee,  had  expe¬ 
rienced  and  given  way  to  some  impulse  of  a  similar  nature.” 

“  Such  fancies  have  passed  through  my  head,”  said  the  Varangian  ;  “but 
I  will  not  follow  them  till  they  are  consistent  both  with  our  own  safety,  and 
more  particularly  with  that  of  the  Countess.” 

“  I  thank  thee  again  for  thy  good-will  to  her,”  said  Count  Robert ;  “  and, 
by  Heaven !  if  fight  we  must  at  length,  as  it  seems  likely,  I  will  neither 
grudge  thee  an  honourable  antagonist,  nor  fair  quarter  if  the  combat  goes 
against  thee.” 

“  Thou  hast  my  thanks,”  was  the  reply  of  Ilereward  ;  “  only,  for  Heaven’s 
sake,  be  silent  in  this  conjecture,  and  do  what  thou  wilt  afterwards.” 

Before  the  Varangian  and  the  Count  had  again  resumed  their  posture  of 
listeners,  the  parties  within  the  pavilion,  conceiving  themselves  unwatched, 
had  resumed  their  conversation,  speaking  low,  yet  with  considerable  ani¬ 
mation. 

“  It  is  in  vain  you  would  persuade  me,”  said  the  Countess,  “  that  you 
know  not  where  my  husband  is,  or  that  you  have  not  the  most  absolute  in¬ 
fluence  over  his  captivity.  Who  else  could  have  an  interest  in  banishing 
or  putting  to  death  the  husband,  but  he  that  affects  to  admire  the  wife?” 

“  You  do  me  wrong,  beautiful  lady,”  answered  the  Caesar,  “  and  forget 
that  I  can  in  no  shape  be  termed  the  moving-spring  of  this  empire ;  that 
my  father-in-law,  Alexius,  is  the  Emperor;  and  that  the  woman  who  terms 
herself  my  wife,  is  jealous  as  a  fiend  can  be  of  my  slightest  motion. — W’’ha.t 
possibility  was  there  that  I  should  work  the  captivity  of  your  husband  and 
your  own?  The  open  affront  which  the  Count  of  Paris  put  upon  the  Em¬ 
peror,  was  one  which  he  was  likely  to  avenge,  either  by  secret  guile  or  by 
open  force.  Me  it  no  way  touched,  save  as  the  humble  vassal  of  thy  charms; 
and  it  was  by  the  wisdom  and  the  art  of  the  sage  Agelastes,  that  I  was  able 
to  extricate  thee  from  the  gulf  in  which  thou  hadst  else  certainly  perished. 
Nay,  weep  not,  lady,  for  as  yet  we  know  not  the  fate  of  Count  Robert ;  but, 
credit  me,  it  is  wisdom  to  choose  a  better  protector,  and  consider  him  as  no 
more.” 

“  A  better  than  him,”  said  Brenhilda,  “  I  can  never  have,  were  I  to  choose 
out  of  the  knighthood  of  all  the  world !” 

“  This  hand,”  said  the  Caesar,  drawing  himself  into  a  martial  attitude, 
“  should  decide  that  question,  were  the  man  of  whom  thou  thinkest  so  much 
yet  moving  on  the  face  of  this  earth  and  at  liberty.” 

“  Thou  art,”  said  Brenhilda,  looking  fixedly  at  him  with  the  fire  of  in- 


156 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


di^nation  flashing  from  every  feature — “thou  art — but  it  avails  not  telling 
thee  what  is  thy  real  name  ;  believe  me,  the  world  shall  one  day  ring  with 
it,  and  be  justly  sensible  of  its  value.  Observe  what  I  am  about  to  say  — 
llobert  of  Paris  is  gone  —  or  captive,  I  know  not  where.  He  cannot  fight 
the  match  of  which  thou  seemest  so  desirous  —  but  here  stands  Brenhilda, 
born  heiress  of  Aspramonte,  by  marriage  the  wedded  wife  of  the  good  Count 
of  Paris.  She  was  never  matched  in  the  lists  by  mortal  man,  except  the 
valiant  Count,  and  since  thou  art  so  grieved  that  thou  canst  not  meet  her 
husband  in  battle,  thou  canst  not  surely  object,  if  she  is  willing  tb  meet 
thee  in  his  stead  \” 

“How,  madam said  the  Caesar,  astonished;  “do  you  propose  yourself 
to  hold  the  lists  against  me  V’ 

“  Against  you  \”  said  the  Countess  ;  “  against  all  the  Grecian  Empire,  if 
they  shall  affirm  that  Robert  of  Paris  is  justly  used  and  lawfully  confined.’^ 

“And  are  the  conditions,^^  said  the  Caesar,  “the  same  as  if  Count  Robert 
himself  held  the  lists  ?  The  vanquished  must  then  be  at  the  pleasure  of 
the  conqueror  for  good  or  evil.’^ 

“  It  would  seem  so,’^  said  the  Countess,  “  nor  do  I  refuse  the  hazard  ; 
only,  that  if  the  other  champion  shall  bite  the  dust,  the  noble  Count  Robert 
shall  be  set  at  liberty,  and  permitted  to  depart  with  all  suitable  honours.’^ 

“This  I  refuse  not,’’  said  the  Caesar,  “  provided  it  is  in  my  power.” 

A  deep  growling  sound,  like  that  of  a  modern  gong,  here  interrupted  the 
conference. 


(Pjlfl|ittr  tilt  HinttBtHtji. 

The  Varangian  and  Count  Robert,  at  every  risk  of  discovery,  had  remained 
so  near  as  fully  to  conjecture,  though  they  could  not  expressly  overhear,  the 
purport  of  the  conversation. 

“  He  has  accepted  her  challenge !”  said  the  Count  of  Paris. 

“And  with  apparent  willingness,”  said  Hereward. 

“0,  doubtless,  doubtless,”  —  answered  the  Crusader;  “but  he  knows  not 
the  skill  in  war  which  a  woman  may  attain  ;  for  my  part,  God  knows  I  have 
enough  depending  upon  the  issue  of  this  contest,  yet  such  is  my  confidence, 
that  I  would  to  God  I  had  more.  I  vow  to  our  Lady  of  the  Broken  Lances, 
that  I  desire  every  furrow  of  land  I  possess  —  every  honour  which  I  can 
call  my  own,  from  the  Countship  of  Paris,  down  to  the  leather  that  binds 
my  spur,  were  dependent  and  at  issue  upon  this  fair  field,  between  your 
CcCsar,  as  men  term  him,  and  Brenhilda  of  Aspramonte.” 

“  It  is  a  noble  confidence,”  said  the  Varangian,  “  nor  durst  I  say  it  is  a 
rash  one ;  only  I  cannot  but  remember  that  the  Caesar  is  a  strong  man,  as 
well  as  a  handsome,  expert  in  the  use  of  arms,  and,  above  all,  less  strictly 
bound  than  you  esteem  yourself  by  the  rules  of  honour.  There  are  many 
ways  in  which  advantage  may  be  given  and  taken,  which  will  not,  in  the 
Caesar’s  estimation,  alter  the  character  of  the  field  from  an  equal  one, 
although  it  might  do  so  in  the  opinion  of  the  chivalrous  Count  of  Paris,  or 
even  in  that  of  the  poor  Varangian.  But  first  let  me  conduct  you  to  some 
place  of  safety,  for  your  escape  must  be  soon,  if  it  is  not  already,  detected. 
The  sounds  which  we  heard  intimate  that  some  of  his  confederate  plotters 
have  visited  the  garden  on  other  than  love  affairs.  I  will  guide  thee  to 
another  avenue  than  that  by  which  we  entered.  But  you  would  hardly,  I 
suppose,  be  pleased  to  adopt  the  wisest  alternative  ?” 

“  And  what  may  that  be?”  said  the  Count. 

“  To  give  thy  purse,  though  it  were  thine  all,  to  some  poor  ferryman  to 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


157 


waft  thee  over  tlie  Hellespont,  then  hasten  to  carry  thy  complaint  to  Godfrey 
of  Bouillon,  and  what  friends  thou  mayst  have  among  thy  brethren  crusaders, 
and  determine,  as  thou  easily  canst,  on  a  sufficient  number  of  them  to  come 
back  and  menace  the  city  with  instant  war,  unless  the  Emperor  should 
deliver  up  thy  lady,  most  unfairly  made  prisoner,  and  prevent,  by  his 
authority,  this  absurd  and  unnatural  combat/' 

“And  would  you  have  me,  then,"  said  Count  Robert,  “  move  the  crusaders 
to  break  a  fairly  appointed  field  of  battle  ?  Do  you  think  that  Godfrey  of 
Bouillon  would  turn  back  upon  his  pilgrimage  for  such  an  unworthy  pur¬ 
pose  ;  or  that  the  Countess  of  Paris  would  accept  as  a  service,  means  of 
safety  which  would  stain  her  honour  for  ever,  by  breaking  an  appointment 
solemnly  made  on  her  own  challenge?  —  Never!" 

“My  judgment  is  then  at  fault,"  said  the  Varangian,  “for  I  see  I  can 
hammer  out  no  expedient  which  is  not,  in  some  extravagant  manner  or 
another,  controlled  by  your  foolish  notions.  Here  is  a  man  who  has  been 
trapped  into  the  power  of  his  enemy,  that  he  might  not  interfere  to  prevent 
a  base  stratagem  upon  his  lady,  involving  both  her  life  and  honour ;  yet  he 
thinks  it  a  matter  of  necessity  that  he  keeps  faith  as  precisely  with  these 
midnight  poisoners,  as  he  would  had  it  been  pledged  to  the  most  honour¬ 
able  men !" 

“  Thou  say'st  a  painful  truth,"  said  Count  Robert ;  “  but  my  word  is  the 
emblem  of  my  faith  ;  and  if  it  pass  to  a  dishonourable  or  faithless  foe,  it  is 
imprudently  done  on  my  part ;  but  if  I  break  it,  being  once  pledged,  it  is 
a  dishonourable  action,  and  the  disgrace  can  never  be  washed  from  my 
shield." 

“  Do  you  mean,  then,"  said  the  Varangian,  “  to  suffer  your  wife's 
honour  to  remain  pledged  as  it  at  present  is,  on  the  event  of  an  unequal 
combat  ?" 

“  God  and  the  saints  pardon  thee  such  -a  thought !"  said  the  Count  of 
Paris.  “  I  will  go  to  see  this  combat  with  a  heart  as  firm,  if  not  as  light, 
as  any  time  I  ever  saw  spears  splintered.  If  by  the  influence  of  any  acci¬ 
dent  or  treachery,  —  for  fairly,  and  with  such  an  antagonist,  Brenhilda  of 
Aspramonte  cannot  be  overthrown,  —  I  step  into  the  lists,  proclaim  the 
Cmsar  as  he  is  —  a  villain  —  show  the  falsehood  of  his  conduct  from 
beginning  to  end,  —  appeal  to  every  noble  heart  that  hears  me,  and  then  — 
God  show  the  right  I" 

llereward  paused,  and  shook  his  head.  “  All  this,"  he  said,  “  might  be 
feasible  enough  provided  the  combat  were  to  be  fought  in  the  presence  of 
your  own  countrymen,  or  even,  by  the  mass!  if  the  Varangians  were  to  be 
guards  of  the  lists.  But  treachery  of  every  kind  is  so  familiar  to  the 
Greeks,  that  I  question  if  they  would  view  the  conduct  of  their  Coesar  as 
any  thing  else  than  a  pardonable  and  natural  stratagem  of  Dan  Cupid,  to 
be  smiled  at,  rather  than  subjected  to  disgrace  or  punishment." 

“A  nation,"  said  Count  Robert,  “who  could  smile  at  such  a  jest,  may 
heaven  refuse  them  sympathy  at  their  utmost  need,  when  their  sword  is 
broken  in  their  hand,  and  their  wives  and  daughters  shrieking  in  the 
relentless  grasp  of  a  barbarous  enemy !" 

llereward  looked  upon  his  companion,  whose  flushed  cheeks  dnd  sparkling 
eyes  bore  witness  to  his  enthusiasm. 

“  I  see,"  he  said,  “  you  are  resolved,  and  I  know  that  your  resolution  can 
injustice  be  called  by  no  other  name  than  an  act  of  heroic  folly — What 
then  ?  it  is  long  since  life  has  been  bitter  to  the  Varangian  exile.  Morn 
has  raised  him  from  a  joyless  bed,  which  night  has  seen  him  lie  down  upon, 
wearied  with  wielding  a  mercenary  weapon  in  the  wars  of  strangers.  He 
has  longed  to  lay  down  his  life  in  an  honourable  cause,  and  this  is  one  in 
which  the  extremity  and  very  essence  of  honour  is  implicated.  It  tallies 
also  with  my  scheme  of  saving  the  Emperor,  which  will  be  greatlv  fixcili- 
tated  by  the  downfall  of  his  ungrateful  son-in-law."  Then  addressing  him- 

o 


158 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


self  to  the  Count,  he  continued,  “Well,  Sir  Count,  as  thou  art  the  person 
principally  concerned,  I  am  willing  to  yield  to  thy  reasoning  in  this  affair  ; 
but  I  hope  you  will  permit  me  to  mingle  with  your  resolution  some  advices 
of  a  more  everyday  and  less  fantastic  nature.  For  example,  thy  escape 
from  the  dungeons  of  the  Blacquernal  must  soon  be  generally  known.  In 
prudence,  indeed,  I  myself  must  be  the  first  to  communicate  it,  since  other¬ 
wise  the  suspicion  will  fall  on  me — Where  do  you  think  of  concealing 
yourself?  for  assuredly  the  search  will  be  close  and  general.^^ 

“  For  that,^^  said  the  Count  of  Paris,  “  I  must  be  indebted  to  thy  sugges¬ 
tion,  with  thanks  for  every  lie  which  thou  findest  thyself  obliged  to  make, 
to  contrive,  and  produce  in  my  behalf,  entreating  thee  only  to  render  them 
as  few  as  possible,  they  being  a  coin  which  I  myself  never  fabricate. 

“  Sir  knight,^’  answered  Ilereward,  “  let  me  begin  first  by  saying,  that  no 
knight  that  ever  belted  sword  is  more  a  slave  to  truth,  when  truth  is  ob¬ 
served  towards  him,  than  the  poor  soldier  who  talks  to  thee ;  but  when  the 
game  depends  not  upon  fair  play,  but  upon  lulling  men’s  cautiousness 
asleep  by  falsehood,  and  drugging  their  senses  by  opiate  draughts,  they  who 
would  scruple  at  no  means  of  deceiving  me,  can  hardly  expect  that  I,  who 
am  paid  in  such  base  money,  should  pass  nothing  on  my  part  but  what  is 
lawful  and  genuine.  For  the  present  thou  must  remain  concealed  within 
my  poor  apartment,  in  the  barracks  of  the  Varangians,  which  is  the  last 
place  where  they  will  think  of  seeking  for  thee.  Take  this,  my  upper  cloak, 
and  follow  me ;  and  now  that  we  are  about  to  leave  these  gardens,  thou 
mayst  follow  me  unsuspected  as  a  sentinel  attending  his  ofiicer ;  for,  take  it 
along  with  you,  noble  Count,  that  we  Varangians  are  a  sort  of  persons  upon 
whom  the  Greeks  care  not  to  look  very  long  or  fixedly.” 

They  now  reached  the  gate  where  they  had  been  admitted  by  the  negress, 
and  Ilereward,  who  was  intrusted  with  the  power,  it  seems,  of  letting  him¬ 
self  out  of  the  philosopher’s  premises,  though  not  of  entering  without 
assistance  from  the  portress,  took  out  a  key  which  turned  the  lock  on  the 
garden  side,  so  that  they  soon  found  themselves  at  liberty.  They  then  pro¬ 
ceeded  by  by-paths  through  the  city,  Hereward  leading  the  way,  and  the 
Count  following,  without  speech  or  remonstrance,  until  they  stood  before 
the  portal  of  the  barracks  of  the  Varangians. 

“  Make  haste,”  said  the  sentinel  who  was  on  duty,  “  dinner  is  already 
begun.”  The  communication  sounded  joyfully  in  the  ears  of  Ilereward, 
who  was  much  afraid  that  his  companion  might  have  been  stopt  and 
examined.  By  a  side  passage  he  reached  his  own  quarters,  and  introduced 
the  Count  into  a  small  room,  the  sleeping  chamber  of  his  squire,  where  he 
apologized  for  leaving  him  for  some  time  ;  and,  going  out,  locked  the  door, 
for  fear,  as  he  said,  of  intrusion. 

The  demon  of  suspicion  was  not  very  likely  to  molest  a  mind  so  frankly 
constituted  as  that  of  Count  Bobert,  and  yet  the  last  action  of  Hereward 
did  not  fail  to  occasion  some  painful  reflections. 

“  This  man,”  he  said,  “  had  needs  be  true,  for  I  have  reposed  in  him  a 
mighty  trust,  which  few  hirelings  in  his  situation  would  honourably  dis¬ 
charge.  Wfiat  is  to  prevent  him  to  report  to  the  principal  ofiicer  of  his 
watch,  that  the  Frank  prisoner,  Robert,  Count  of  Paris,  whose  wife  stands 
engaged  for  so  desperate  a  combat  with  the  Caesar,  has  escaped,  indeed,  this 
morning,  from  the  prisons  of  the  Blacquernal,  but  has  sufiered  himself  to 
be  trepanned  at  noon,  and  is  again  a  captive  in  the  barracks  of  the  Varan¬ 
gian  Guard?  —  what  means  of  defence  are  mine,  were  I  discovered  to  these 
mercenaries  ? — What  man  could  do,  by  the  favour  of  our  Lady  of  the  Broken  • 
Lances,  I  have  not  failed  to  achieve.  I  have  slain  a  tiger  in  single  combat 
— I  have  killed  one  warder,  and  conquered  the  desperate  and  gigantic  crea¬ 
ture  by  whom  he  was  supported.  I  have  had  terms  enough  at  command  to 
bring  over  this  Varangian  to  my  side,  in  appearance  at  least;  yet  all  this 
does  not  encourage  me  to  hope  that  I  could  long  keep  at  bay  ton  or  a  dozen 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


159 

Fucli  men  as  these  beef-fed  knaves  appear  to  be,  led  in  upon  me  by  a  fellow 
of  thewes  and  sinews  such  as  those  of  my  late  companion. — Yet  for  shame, 
Robert !  such  thoughts  are  unworthy  a  descendant  of  Charlemagne.  When 
wert  thou  wont  so  curiously  to  count  thine  enemies,  and  when  wert  thou 
wont  to  be  suspicious,  since  he,  whose  bosom  may  truly  boast  itself  inca¬ 
pable  of  fraud,  ought  in  honesty  to  be  the  last  to  expect  it  in  another? 
The  Varangian's  look  is  open,  his  coolness  in  danger  is  striking,  his  speech 
is  more  frank  and  ready  than  ever  was  that  of  a  traitor.  If  he  is  false, 
there  is  no  faith  in  the  hand  of  nature,  for  truth,  sincerity,  and  courage  are 
written  upon  his  forehead." 

While  Count  Robert  was  thus  reflecting  upon  his  condition,  and  com¬ 
bating  the  thick-coming  doubts  and  suspicions  which  its  uncertainties  gave 
rise  to,  he  began  to  be  sensible  that  he  had  not  eaten  for  many  hours ;  and 
amidst  many  doubts  and  fears  of  a  more  heroic  nature,  he  half  entertained 
a  lurking  suspicion,  that  they  meant  to  let  hunger  undermine  his  strength 
before  they  adventured  into  the  apartment  to  deal  with  him. 

We  shall  best  see  how  far  these  doubts  were  deserved  bv  Ilereward,  or 
how  far  they  were  unjust,  by  following  his  course  after  he  left  his  barrack- 
room.  Snatching  a  morsel  of  dinner,  which  he  ate  with  an  afiectation  of 
great  hunger,  but,  in  fact,  that  his  attention  to  his  food  might  be  a  pretence 
for  dispensing  with  disagreeable  questions,  or  with  conversation  of  any  kind, 
he  pleaded  duty,  and  immediately  leaving  his  comrades,  directed  his  course 
to  the  lodgings  of  Achilles  Tatius,  which  were  a  part  of  the  same  building. 
A  Syrian  slave,  who  opened  the  door,  after  a  deep  reverence  to  Ilereward, 
whom  he  knew  as  a  favourite  attendant  of  the  Acolyte,  said  to  him  that  his 
master  was  gone  forth,  but  had  desired  him  to  say,  that  if  he  wished  to  see 
him,  he  would  find  him  at  the  Philosopher’s  Gardens,  so  called,  as  belonging 
to  the  sage  Agelastes. 

Ilereward  turned  about  instantly,  and  availing  himself  of  his  knowledge 
of  Constantinople  to  thread  its  streets  in  the  shortest  time  possible,  at  length 
stood  alone  before  the  door  in  the  garden-wall,  at  which  he  and  the  Count 
of  Paris  had  previously  been  admitted  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  day.  The 
same  negress  appeared  at  the  same  private  signal,  and  when  he  asked  for 
Achilles  Tatius,  she  replied,  with  some  sharpness,  “  Since  you  were  here 
this  morning,  I  marvel  you  did  not  meet  him,  or  that,  having  business  with 
him,  you  did  not  stay  till  he  arrived.  Sure  I  am,  that  not  long  after  you 
entered  the  garden  the  Acolyte  was  enquiring  for  you." 

“It  skills  not,  old  woman,"  said  the  Varangian  ;  “I  communicate  the 
reason  of  my  motions  to  my  commander,  but  not  to  thee."  He  entered  the 
garden  accordingly,  and  avoiding  the  twilight  path  that  led  to  the  Bower 
of  Love,  —  so  was  the  pavilion  named  in  which  he  had  overheard  the  dia¬ 
logue  between  the  Caesar  and  the  Countess  of  Paris,  —  he  arrived  before  a 
simple  garden-house,  w'hose  humble  and  modest  front  seemed  to  announce 
that  it  was  the  abode  of  philosophy  and  learning.  Here,  passing  before  the 
windows,  he  made  some  little  noise,  expecting  to  attract  the  attention  either 
of  Achilles  Tatius,  or  his  accomplice  Agelastes,  as  chance  should  determine. 
It  was  the  first  who  heard,  and  who  replied.  The  door  opened ;  a  lofty 
plume  stooped  itself,  that  its  owner  might  cross  the  threshold,  and  the  stately 
form  of  Achilles  Tatius  entered  the  gardens.  “  What  now,"  he  said,  “  our 
trusty  sentinel?  what  hast  thou,  at  this  time  of  day,  come  to  report  to  us? 
Thou  art  our  good  friend',  and  highly  esteemed  soldier,  and  well  we  wot 
thine  errand  must  be  of  importance,  since  thou  hast  brought  it  thyself,  and 
at  an  hour  so  unusual." 

“  Pray  Heaven,"  said  Ilereward,  “  that  the  news  I  have  brought  deserve 
a  welcome." 

“  Speak  them  instantly,"  said  the  Acolyte,  “  good  or  bad  ;  thou  speakest 
to  a  man  to  whom  fear  is  unknown."  But  his  eye,  which  quailed  as  he 
looked  on  the  soldier — his  colour,  which  went  and  came — his  hands,  which 


160 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


busied  tberaselves  in  an  uncertain  manner  in  adjusting  the  belt  of  his 
sword, — all  argued  a  state  of  mind  very  different  from  that  which  his  tone 
of  defiance  would  fain  have  implied.  “  Courage,’^  he  said,  “  my  trusty 
soldier !  speak  the  news  to  me.  I  can  bear  the  worst  thou  hast  to  tell.’^ 

“In  a  word,  then,’^  said  the  Varangian,  “your  Valour  directed  me  this 
morning  to  play  the  office  of  master  of  the  rounds  upon  those  dungeons  of 
the  Blacquernal  palace,  where  last  night  the  boisterous  Count  Robert  of 
Paris  was  incarcerated” - 

“  I  remember  well,”  said  Achilles  Tatius. — “  What  then  ?” 

“  As  I  reposed  me,”  said  Hereward,  “  in  an  apartment  above  the  vaults, 
I  heard  cries  from  beneath,  of  a  kind  which  attracted  my  attention.  I 
hastened  to  examine,  and  my  surprise  was  extreme,  when  looking  down  into 
the  dungeon,  though  I  could  see  nothing  distinctly,  yet,  by  the  wailing  and 
whimpering  sounds,  I  conceived  that  the  Man  of  the  Forest,  the  animal 
called  Sylvan,  whom  our  soldiers  have  so  far  indoctrinated  in  our  Saxon 
tongue  as  to  make  him  useful  in  the  wards  of  the  prison,  was  bemoaning 
himself  on  account  of  some  violent  injury.  Descending  with  a  torch,  I  found 
the  bed  on  which  the  prisoner  had  been  let  down  burnt  to  cinders  ;  the  tiger 
which  had  been  chained  within  a  spring  of  it,  with  its  skull  broken  to 
pieces ;  the  creature  called  Sylvan,  prostrate,  and  writhing  under  great 
pain  and  terror,  and  no  prisoner  whatever  in  the  dungeon.  There  were 
marks  that  all  the  fastenings  had  been  withdrawn  by  a  Mytilenian  soldier, 
companion  of  my  watch,  when  he  visited  the  dungeon  at  the  usual  hour; 
and  as,  in  my  anxious  search,  I  at  length  found  his  dead  body,  slain  appa¬ 
rently  by  a  stab  in  the  throat,  I  was  obliged  to  believe  that  while  I  was 
examining  the  cell,  he,  this  Count  Robert,  with  whose  daring  life  the  adven¬ 
ture  is  well  consistent,  had  escaped  into  the  upper  air,  by  means,  doubtless, 
of  the  ladder  and  trap-door  by  which  I  had  descended.” 

“  And  wherefore  didst  thou  not  instantly  call  treason,  and  raise  the  hue 
and  cry  ?”  demanded  the  Acolyte. 

“I  dared  not  venture  to  do  so,”  replied  the  Varangian,  “till  I  had  in¬ 
structions  from  your  Valour.  The  alarming  cry  of  treason,  and  the  various 
rumours  likely  at  this  moment  to  ensue,  might  have  involved  a  search  so 
close,  as  perchance  would  have  discovered  matters  in  which  the  Acolyte 
himself  would  have  been  rendered  subject  to  suspicion.” 

“  Thou  art  right,”  said  Achilles  Tatius,  in  a  whisper ;  “  and  yet  it  will 
be  necessary  that  we  do  not  pretend  any  longer  to  conceal  the  flight  of  this 
important  prisoner,  if  we  would  not  pass  for  being  his  accomplices.  Where 
thinkest  thou  this  unhappy  fugitive  can  have  taken  refuge  ?” 

“  That  I  was  in  hopes  of  learning  from  your  Valour’s  greater  wisdom,” 
said  Hereward. 

“Thinkest  thou  not,”  said  Achilles,  “that  he  may  have  crossed  the 
Hellespont,  in  order  to  rejoin  his  own  countrymen  and  adherents  ?” 

“  It  is  much  to  be  dreaded,”  said  Hereward.  “  Undoubtedly,  if  the  Count 
listened  to  the  advice  of  any  one  who  knew  the  face  of  the  country,  such 
would  be  the  very  counsel  he  would  receive.” 

“  The  danger,  then,  of  his  return  at  the  head  of  a  vengeful  body  of 
Franks,”  said  the  Acolyte,  “  is  not  so  immediate  as  I  apprehended  at  first, 
for  the  Emperor  gave  positive  orders  that  the  boats  and  galleys  which  yes¬ 
terday  transported  the  crusaders  to  the  shores  of  Asia  should  recross  the 
strait,  and  bring  back  no  single  one  of  them  from  the  step  upon  their  jour¬ 
ney  on  which  he  had  so  far  furthered  them.  —  Besides,  they  all,  —  their 
leaders,  that  is  to  say,  —  made  their  vows  before  crossing,  that  they  would 
not  turn  back  so  much  as  a  foot’s  pace,  now  that  they  had  set  actually  forth 
on  the  road  to  Palestine.” 

“  So,  therefore,”  said  Hereward,  “one  of  the  two  propositions  is  unques¬ 
tionable  ;  either  Count  Robert  is  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  strait,  having  no 
means  of  returning  with  his  brethren  to  avenge  the  usage  he  has  received. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


161 


find  may  therefore  be  securely  set  at  defiance, — or  else  he  lurks  somewhere 
in  Constantinople,  without  a  friend  or  ally  to  take  his  part,  or  encourage 
him  openly  to  state  his  supposed  wrongs ;  in  either  case,  there  can,  I  think, 
be  no  tact  in  conveying  to  the  palace  the  news  that  he  has  freed  himself, 
since  it  would  only  alarm  the  court,  and  afford  the  Emperor  ground  for 
many  suspicions.  —  But  it  is  not  for  an  ignorant  barbarian  like  me  to  pre¬ 
scribe  a  course  of  conduct  to  your  valour  and  wisdom,  and  methinks  the 
sage  Agelastes  were  a  fitter  counsellor  than  such  as  I  am.'' 

“  No,  no,  no,"  said  the  Acolyte,  in  a  hurried  whisper ;  “  the  philosopher 
and  I  are  right  good  friends,  sworn  good  friends,  very  especially  bound  to¬ 
gether  ;  but  should  it  come  to  this,  that  one  of  us  must  needs  throw  before 
the  footstool  of  the  Emperor  the  head  of  the  other,  I  think  thou  wouldst  not 
advise  that  I,  whose  hairs  have  not  a  trace  of  silver,  should  be  the  last  in 
making  the  offering;  therefore  we  will  say  nothing  of  this  mishap,  but  give 
thee  full  power,  and  the  highest  charge  to  seek  for  Count  Robert  of  Paris, 
be  he  dead  or  alive,  to  secure  him  within  the  dungeons  set  apart  for  the 
discipline  of  our  own  corps,  and  when  thou  hast  done  so,  to  bring  me  notice. 
I  may  make  him  my  friend  in  many  ways,  by  extricating  his  wife  from 
danger  by  the  axes  of  my  Varangians.  What  is  there  in  this  metropolis  that 
they  have  to  oppose  them  ?" 

“When  raised  in  a  just  cause,"  answered  Ilereward,  “nothing." 

“Ilah!  —  say'st  thou?"  said  the  Acolyte  ;  “  how  meanest  thou  by  that? 
— but  I  know — Thou  art  scrupulous  about  having  the  just  and  lawful  com¬ 
mand  of  thy  ofiicer  in  every  action  in  which  thou  art  engaged,  and,  thinking 
in  that  dutiful  and  soldierlike  manner,  it  is  my  duty  as  thine  Acolyte  to  see 
thy  scruples  satisfied.  A  warrant  shalt  thou  have,  with  full  powers,  to  seek 
for  and  imprison  this  foreign  Count  of  whom  we  have  been  speaking — And, 
hark  thee,  my  excellent  friend,"  he  continued,  with  some  hesitation,  “I  think 
thou  hadst  better  begone,  and  begin,  or  rather  continue  thy  search.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  inform  our  friend  Agelastes  of  what  has  happened,  until  his 
advice  be  more  needful  than  as  yet  it  is  on  the  occasion.  Home — home  to 
the  barracks  ;  I  will  account  to  him  for  thy  appearance  here,  if  he  be  curious 
on  the  subject,  which,  as  a  suspicious  old  man,  he  is  likely  to  be.  Go  to  the 
barracks,  and  act  as  if  thou  hadst  a  warrant  in  every  respect  full  and  ample. 
I  will  provide  thee  with  one  when  I  come  back  to  my  quarters." 

T'he  Varangian  turned  hastily  homewards. 

“  Now,  is  it  not,"  he  said,  “  a  strange  thing,  and  enough  to  make  a  man 
a  rogue  for  life  —  to  observe  how  the  devil  encourages  young  beginners  in 
falsehood  !  I  have  told  a  greater  lie — at  least  I  have  suppressed  more  truth 
—  than  on  any  occasion  before  in  my  whole  life  —  and  what  is  the  conse¬ 
quence?  Why,  my  commander  throws  almost  at  my  head  a  warrant  suffi¬ 
cient  to  guarantee  and  protect  me  in  all  I  have  done,  or  propose  to  do !  If 
the  foul  fiend  were  thus  regular  in  protecting  his  votaries,  methinks  they 
would  have  little  reason  to  complain  of  him,  or  better  men  to  be  astonished 
at  their  number.  But  a  time  comes,  they  say,  when  he  seldom  fails  to 
desert  them.  Therefore,  get  thee  behind  me,  Satan !  If  I  have  seemed 
to  be  thy  servant  for  a  short  time,  it  is  but  with  an  honest  and  Christian 
purpose." 

As  he  entertained  these  thoughts,  he  looked  back  upon  the  path,  and  was 
startled  at  an  apparition  of  a  creature  of  a  much  greater  size,  and  a  stranger 
shape  than  human,  covered,  all  but  the  fiice,  with  a  reddish  dun  fur;  his 
expression  an  ugly,  and  yet  a  sad  melancholy ;  a  cloth  was  wrapped  round  one 
hand,  and  an  air  of  pain  and  languor  bespoke  suffering  from  a  wound.  So 
much  was  Ilereward  pre-occupied  with  his  own  reflections,  that  at  first  he 
thought  his  imagination  had  actually  raised  the  devil ;  but  after  a  sudden 
start  of  surprise,  he  recognised  his  acquaintance  Sylvan.  “  Ilah !  old 
friend,"  he  said,  “  I  am  happy  thou  hast  made  thy  escape  to  a  place  where 
VoL.  XII.— 11  o2 


162 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


thou  wilt  find  plenty  of  fruit  to  support  thee.  Take  my  advice  —  keep  out 
of  the  way  of  discovery  —  Keep  thy  friend’s  counsel.” 

The  Man  of  the  Wood  uttered  a  chattering  noise  in  return  to  this  ad¬ 
dress. 

“  I  understand  thee,”  said  Hereward,  “  thou  wilt  tell  no  tales,  thou  say- 
est ;  and  faith,  I  will  trust  thee  rather  than  the  better  part  of  my  own  two- 
legged  race,  who  are  eternally  circumventing  or  murdering  each  other.” 

A  minute  after  the  creature  was  out  of  sight,  Hereward  heard  the  shriek 
of  a  female,  and  a  voice  which  cried  for  help.  The  accents  must  have 
been  uncommonly  interesting  to  the  Varangian,  since,  forgetting  his  own 
dangerous  situation,  he  immediately  turned  and  flew  to  the  suppliant’s 
assistance. 


(Cljapttr  tljB  '(Kraintittli. 

She  comes!  she  comes!  in  all  the  charms  of  youth, 

Unequall'd  love,  and  unsuspected  truth! 

Hereward  was  not  long  in  tracing  the  cry  through  the  wooded  walks, 
when  a  female  rushed  into  his  arms  ;  alarmed,  as  it  appeared,  by  Sylvan, 
who  was  pursuing  her  closely.  The  figure  of  Hereward,  with  his  axe 
uplifted,  put  an  instant  stop  to  his  career,  and  with  a  terrified  note  of  his 
native  cries,  he  withdrew  into  the  thickest  of  the  adjoining  foliage. 

Relieved  from  his  presence,  Hereward  had  time  to  look  at  the  female 
whom  he  had  succoured :  She  was  arrayed  in  a  dress  which  consisted  of 
several  colours,  that  which  predominated  being  a  pale  yellow;  her  tunic 
was  of  this  colour,  and,  like  a  modern  gown,  was  closely  fitted  to  the  body, 
which,  in  the  present  case,  was  that  of  a  tall,  but  very  well-formed  person. 
The  mantle,  or  upper  garment,  in  which  the  whole  figure  was  wrapped, 
was  of  fine  cloth ;  and  the  kind  of  hood  which  was  attached  to  it  having 
flown  back  with  the  rapidity  of  her  motion,  gave  to  view  the  hair  beauti¬ 
fully  adorned  and  twisted  into  a  natural  head-dress.  Beneath  this  natural 
head-gear  appeared  a  face  pale  as  death,  from  a  sense  of  the  supposed 
danger,  but  which  preserved,  even  amidst  its  terrors,  an  exquisite  degree 
of  beauty. 

Hereward  was  thunderstruck  at  this  apparition.  The  dress  was  neither 
Grecian,  Italian,  nor  of  the  costume  of  the  Franks  ;  —  it  was  Saxon!  —  con¬ 
nected  by  a  thousand  tender  remembrances  with  Hereward’s  childhood  and 
youth.  The  circumstance  was  most  extraordinary.  Saxon  women,  indeed, 
there  were  in  Constantinople,  who  had  united  their  fortunes  with  those  of 
the  Varangians ;  and  those  often  chose  to  wear  their  national  dress  in  the 
city,  because  the  character  and  conduct  of  their  husbands  secured  them  a 
degree  of  respect,  which  they  might  not  have  met  with  either  as  Grecian  or 
as  stranger  females  of  a  similar  rank.  But  almost  all  these  were  personally 
known  to  Hereward.  It  was  no  time,  however,  for  reverie — he  was  himself 
in  danger  —  the  situation  of  the  young  female  might  be  no  safe  one.  In 
every  case,  it  was  judicious  to  quit  the  more  public  part  of  the  gardens ;  he 
therefore  lost  not  a  moment  in  conveying  the  fainting  Saxon  to  a  retreat  he 
fortunately  was  acquainted  with.  A  covered  path,  obscured  by  vegetation, 
led  through  a  species  of  labyrinth  to  an  artificial  cave,  at  the  bottom  of 
which,  half-paved  with  shells,  moss,  and  spar,  lay  the  gigantic  and  half- 
recumbent  statue  of  a  river  deity,  with  its  usual  attributes  —  that  is,  its 
front  crowned  with  water-lilies  and  sedges,  and  its  ample  hand  half-resting 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS.  1G3 

upon  an  empty  urn.  The  attitude  of  the  whole  figure  corresponded  with 

tlic  motto, - “  I  SLEEP — AWAKE  ME  NOT.” 

“  Accursed  relic  of  paganism,”  said  Ilercward,  who  was,  in  proportion  to 
his  light,  a  zealous  Ciiristian — “  brutish  stock  or  stone  that  thou  art !  I  will 
wake  thee  with  a  vengeance.”  So  saying,  he  struck  the  head  of  the  slum¬ 
bering  deity  with  his  battle-axe,  and  deranged  the  play  of  the  fountain  so 
much  that  the  water  began  to  pour  into  the  basin. 

“Thou  art  a  good  block,  nevertheless,”  said  the  Varangian,  “to  send 
succour  so  needful  to  the  aid  of  my  poor  countrywoman.  Thou  shalt  give 
her  also,  with  thy  leave,  a  portion  of  thy  couch.”  So  saying  he  arranged 
his  fair  burden,  who  was  as  yet  insensible,  upon  the  pedestal  where  the  figure 
of  the  River  God  reclined.  In  doing  this,  his  attention  was  recalled  to  her 
face,  and  again  and  again  he  was  thrilled  with  an  emotion  of  hope,  but  so 
excessively  like  fear,  that  it  could  only  be  compared  to  the  flickering  of  a 
torch,  uncertain  whether  it  is  to  light  up  or  be  instantly  extinguished. 
With  a  sort  of  mechanical  attention,  he  continued  to  make  such  efforts  as 
he  could  to  recall  the  intellect  of  the  beautiful  creature  before  him.  llis 
feelings  were  those  of  the  astronomical  sage,  to  whom  the  rise  of  the  moon 
slowly  restores  the  contemplation  of  that  heaven,  which  is  at  once,  as  a 
Ghristian,  his  hope  of  felicity,  and,  as  a  philosopher,  the  source  of  his  knoAV- 
ledge.  The  blood  returned  to  her  cheek,  and  reanimation,  and  even  recol¬ 
lection,  took  place  in  her  earlier  than  in  the  astonished  Varangian. 

“  Blessed  Mary  !”  she  said,  “  have  I  indeed  tasted  the  last  bitter  cup,  and 
is  it  here  where  thou  reunitest  thy  votaries  after  death  ! — Speak,  Ilereward! 
if  thou  art  aught  but  an  empty  creature  of  the  imagination!  —  speak,  and 
tell  me,  if  I  have  but  dreamed  of  that  monstrous  ogre  1” 

“  Collect  thyself,  my  beloved  Bertha,”  said  the  Anglo-Saxon,  recalled  by 
the  sound  of  her  voice,  “  and  pre])are  to  endure  what  thou  livest  to  witness, 
and  thy  Ilereward  survives  to  tell.  That  hideous  thing  exists — nay,  do  not 
start,  and  look  for  a  hiding-place — thy  own  gentle  hand  with  a  riding  rod  is 
sufficient  to  tame  its  courage.  And  am  I  not  here,  Bertha?  Wouldst  thou 
wish  another  safeguard  ?” 

“No  —  no,”  exclaimed  she,  seizing  on  the  arm  of  her  recovered  lover. 
“  Do  I  not  know  you  now?” 

“  And  is  it  but  now  you  know  me,  Bertha?”  said  Ilereward. 

“  I  suspected  before,”  she  said,  casting  down  her  eyes ;  “  but  I  knoAv  with 
certainty  that  mark  of  the  boar’s  tusk.” 

Ilereward  suffered  her  imagination  to  clear  itself  from  the  shock  it  had 
received  so  suddenly,  before  he  ventured  to  enter  upon  present  events,  in 
which  there  Avas  so  much  both  to  doubt  and  to  fear.  lie  permitted  her, 
therefore,  to  recall  to  her  memory  all  the  circumstances  of  the  rousing  the 
hideous  animal,  assisted  by  the  tribes  of  both  their  fiithers.  She  mentioned 
in  broken  Avords  the  flight  of  arroAA'S  discharged  against  the  boar  by  young 
and  old,  male  and  female,  and  how  her  OAvn  Avell  aimed,  but  feeble  shaft, 
Avounded  him  sharply ;  she  forgot  not  how,  incensed  at  the  pain,  the  crea¬ 
ture  rushed  upon  her  as  the  cause,  laid  her  palfrey  dead  upon  the  spot,  and 
would  soon  have  slain  her,  had  not  IlereAvard,  when  every  attempt  failed  to 
bring  his  horse  up  to  the  monster,  throAvn  himself  from  his  seat,  and  inter¬ 
posed  personally  between  the  boar  and  Bertha.  The  battle  was  not  decided 
without  a  desperate  struggle ;  the  boar  was  slain,  but  Ilereward  received 
the  deep  gash  upon  his  brow  which  she  whom  he  had  saved  noAv  recalled  to 
her  memory.  “  Alas  1”  she  said,  “  what  have  we  been  to  each  other  since 
that  period?  and  Avhat  are  we  now,  in  this  foreign  land?” 

“  Answer  for  thyself,  my  Bertha,”  said  the  Varangian,  “  if  thou  canst; — 
and  if  thou  canst  Avith  truth  say  that  thou  art  the  same  Bertha  Avho  Avowed 
affection  to  Ilereward,  believe  me,  it  were  sinful  to  suppose  that  the  saints 
have  brought  us  together  with  a  view  of  our  being  afterwards  separated.” 

“  Ilereward,”  said  Bertha,  “  you  have  not  preserved  the  bird  in  your 


164 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


bosom  safer  than  I  have ;  at  home  or  abroad,  in  servitude  or  in  freedom, 
amidst  sorrow  or  joy,  plenty  or  want,  my  thought  was  always  on  the  troth 
I  had  plighted  to  Ilereward  at  the  stone  of  Odin/^ 

“  Say  no  more  of  that,^^  said  Hereward ;  “  it  was  an  impious  rite,  and 
good  could  not  come  of  it/^ 

“Was  it  then  so  impious?’^  she  said,  the  unbidden  tear  rushing  into  her 
large  blue  eyes.  —  “Alas!  it  was  a  pleasure  to  reflect  that  Hereward  was 
mine  by  that  solemn  engagement 

“  Listen  to  me,  my  Bertha,’^  said  Hereward,  taking  her  hand  ;  “  We  were 
then  almost  children  ;  and  though  our  vow  was  in  itself  innocent,  yet  it 
was  so  far  wrong,  as  being  sworn  in  the  presence  of  a  dumb  idol,  represent¬ 
ing  one  who  was,  while  alive,  a  bloody  and  cruel  magician.  But  we  will, 
the  instant  an  opportunity  offers  itself,  renew  our  vow  before  a  shrine  of 
real  sanctity,  and  promise  suitable  penance  for  our  ignorant  acknowledg¬ 
ment  of  Odin,  to  propitiate  the  real  Deity,  who  can  bear  us  through  those 
storms  of  adversity  which  are  like  to  surround  us.’^ 

Leaving  them  for  the  time  to  their  love-discourse,  of  a  nature  pure, 
simple,  and  interesting,  we  shall  give,  in  a  few  words,  all  that  the  reader 
needs  to  know  of  their  separate  history  between  the  boar's  hunt  and  the 
time  of  their  meeting  in  the  gardens  of  Agelastes. 

In  that  doubtful  state  experienced  by  outlaws,  Waltheofif,  the  father  of 
Hereward,  and  Engelred,  the  parent  of  Bertha,  used  to  assemble  their 
unsubdued  tribes,  sometimes  in  the  fertile  regions  of  Devonshire,  sometimes 
in  the  dark  wooded  solitudes  of  Hampshire,  but  as  much  as  possible  within 
the  call  of  the  bugle  of  the  famous  Edric  the  Forester,  so  long  leader  of  the 
insurgent  Saxons.  The  chiefs  we  have  mentioned  were  among  the  last  bold 
men  who  asserted  the  independence  of  the  Saxon  race  of  England ;  and  like 
their  captain  Edric,  they  were  generally  known  by  the  name  of  Foresters, 
as  men  who  lived  by  hunting,  when  their  power  of  making  excursions  was 
checked  and  repelled.  Hence  they  made  a  step  backwards  in  civilization, 
and  became  more  like  to  their  remote  ancestors  of  German  descent,  than 
they  were  to  their  more  immediate  and  civilized  predecessors,  who  before 
the  battle  of  Hastings,  had  advanced  considerably  in  the  arts  of  civilized  life. 

Old  superstitions  had  begun  to  revive  among  them,  and  hence  the  practice 
of  youths  and  maidens  plighting  their  troth  at  the  stone  circles  dedicated, 
as  it  was  supposed,  to  Odin,  in  whom,  however,  they  had  long  ceased  to 
nourish  any  of  the  sincere  belief  which  was  entertained  by  their  heathen 
ancestors. 

In  another  respect  these  outlaws  were  fast  resuming  a  striking  peculiarity 
of  the  ancient  Germans.  Their  circumstances  naturally  brought  the  youth 
of  both  sexes  much  together,  and  by  early  marriage,  or  less  permanent  con¬ 
nexions,  the  population  would  have  increased  far  beyond  the  means  which 
the  outlaws  had  to  maintain,  or  even  to  protect  themselves.  The  laws  of 
the  Foresters,  therefore,  strictly  enjoined  that  marriages  should  be  pro¬ 
hibited  until  the  bridegroom  was  twenty-one  years  complete.  Future 
alliances  were  indeed  often  formed  by  the  young  people,  nor  was  this  dis¬ 
countenanced  by  their  parents,  provided  that  the  lovers  waited  until  the 
period  when  the  majority  of  the  bridegroom  should  permit  them  to  marry. 
Such  youths  as  infringed  this  rule,  incurred  the  dishonourable  epithet  of 
niddering,  or  worthless,  —  an  epithet  of  a  nature  so  insulting,  that  men 
were  known  to  have  slain  themselves,  rather  than  endure  life  under  such 
opprobrium.  But  the  olfenders  were  very  few  amidst  a  race  trained  in 
moderation  and  self-denial;  and  hence  it  was  that  woman,  worshipped  for 
so  many  years  like  something  sacred,  was  received,  when  she  became  the 
head  of  a  family,  into  the  arms  and  heart  of  a  husband  who  had  so  long 
expected  her,  was  treated  as  something  more  elevated  than  the  mere  idol  of 
the  moment;  and  feeling  the  rate  at  which  she  was  valued,  endeavoured  by 
her  actions  to  make  her  life  correspond  with  it. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


1G5 


It  was  by  the  whole  population  of  these  tribes,  as  well  as  their  parents, 
that  after  the  adventure  of  the  boar  hunt,  llereward  and  Bertha  were  con¬ 
sidered  as  lovers  whose  alliance  was  pointed  out  by  Heaven,  and  they  were 
encouraged  to  approximate  as  much  as  their  mutual  inclinations  prompted 
them.  The  youtlis  of  the  tribe  avoided  asking  MartlnUs  hand  at  the  dance, 
and  the  maidens  used  no  maidenly  entreaty  or  artifice  to  detain  llereward 
beside  them,  if  Bertha  was  present  at  the  feast.  They  clasped  each  other’s 
hands  through  the  pei’forated  stone,  which  they  called  the  altar  of  Odin, 
though  later  ages  have  ascribed  it  to  the  Druids,  and  they  implored  that  if 
they  broke  their  faith  to  each  other,  their  fiiult  might  be  avenged  by  the 
twelve  swords  wdiich  were  now  drawn  around  them  during  the  ceremony 
by  as  many  youths,  and  that  their  misfortunes  might  be  so  many  as  twelve 
maidens,  who  stood  around  with  their  hair  loosened,  should  be  unable  to 
recount,  either  in  prose  or  verse. 

The  torch  of  the  Saxon  Cupid  shone  for  some  years  as  brilliant  as  wdien 
it  w'as  first  lighted.  The  time,  however,  came  when  they  were  to  be  tried 
by  adversity,  though  undeserved  by  the  perfidy  of  either.  Years  had  gone 
past,  and  llereward  had  to  count  with  anxiety  how  many  months  and 
weeks  w'ere  to  separate  him  from  the  bride,  who  was  beginning  already  by 
degrees  to  shrink  less  shyly  from  the  expressions  and  caresses  of  one  who 
was  soon  to  term  her  all  his  own.  William  Rufus,  however,  had  formed  a 
plan  of  totally  extirpating  the  Foresters,  wdiose  implacable  hatred,  and  rest¬ 
less  love  of  freedom,  had  so  often  disturbed  the  quiet  of  his  kingdom,  and 
despised  his  forest  laws.  He  assembled  his  Norman  forces,  and  united  to 
them  a  body  of  Saxons  who  had  submitted  to  his  rule.  He  thus  brought 
an  overpowering  force  upon  the  bands  of  Waltheoff  and  Engelred,  who 
found  no  resource  but  to  throw  the  females  of  their  tribe,  and  such  as  could 
not  bear  arms,  into  a  convent  dedicated  to  St.  Augustin,  of  which  Kenelm 
their  relation  was  prior,  and  then  turning  to  the  battle,  vindicated  their 
ancient  valour  by  fighting  it  to  the  last.  Both  the  unfortunate  chiefs 
remained  dead  on  the  field,  and  llereward  and  his  brother  had  wellnigh 
shared  their  fate ;  but  some  Saxon  inhabitants  of  the  neighbourhood,  who 
adventured  on  the  field  of  battle,  which  the  victors  had  left  bare  of  every 
thing  save  the  booty  of  the  kites  and  the  ravens,  found  the  bodies  of  the 
youths  still  retaining  life.  As  they  were  generally  w'ell  known  and  much 
beloved  by  these  people,  llereward  and  his  brother  were  taken  care  of  till 
their  wmunds  began  to  close,  and  their  strength  returned.  Herew^ard  then 
heard  the  doleful  news  of  the  death  of  his  father  and  Engelred.  His  next 
enquiry  was  concerning  his  betrothed  bride  and  her  mother.  The  poor 
inhabitants  could  give  him  little  information.  Some  of  the  females  wdio 
had  taken  refuge  in  the  convent,  the  Norman  knights  and  nobles  had  seized 
upon  as  their  slaves,  and  the  rest,  with  the  monks  w'ho  had  harboured  them, 
w'ere  turned  adrift,  and  their  place  of  retreat  w'as  completely  sacked  and 
burnt  to  the  ground. 

Half-dead  himself  at  hearing  these  tidings,  llereward  sallied  out,  and  at 
every  risk  of  death,  for  the  Saxon  Foresters  were  treated  as  outlaws,  com¬ 
menced  enquiries  after  those  so  dear  to  him.  He  asked  concerning  the  par¬ 
ticular  fate  of  Bertha  and  her  mother,  among  the  miserable  creatures  who 
yet  hovered  about  the  neighbourhood  of  the  convent,  like  a  few  half-scorched 
bees  about  their  smothered  hive.  But,  in  the  magnitude  of  their  own 
terrors,  none  had  retained  eyes  for  their  neighbours,  and  all  that  they  could 
say  was,  that  the  wdfe  and  daughter  of  Engelred  were  certainly  lost;  and 
their  imaginations  suggested  so  many  heart-rending  details  to  this  conclu¬ 
sion,  that  llereward  gave  up  all  thoughts  of  further  researches,  likely  to 
terminate  so  uselessly  and  so  horribly. 

The  young  Saxon  had  been  all  his  life  bred  up  in  a  patriotic  hatred  to 
the  Normans,  who  did  not,  it  was  likely,  become  dearer  to  his  thoughts  in 
consequence  of  this  victory.  He  dreamed  at  first  of  crossing  the  strait,  to 


166 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


make  war  against  the  hated  enemy  in  their  own  country ;  but  an  idea  so 
extravagant  did  not  long  retain  possession  of  his  mind.  Ilis  fate  was  decided 
by  his  encountering  an  aged  palmer,  who  knew  or  pretended  to  have  known, 
his  father,  and  to  be  a  native  of  England.  This  man  was  a  disguised  Varan¬ 
gian,  selected  for  the  purpose,  possessed  of  art  and  dexterity,  and  well  pro¬ 
vided  with  money.  He  had  little  difficulty  in  persuading  Hereward,  in  the 
hopeless  desolation  of  his  condition,  to  join  the  Varangian  Guard,  at  this 
moment  at  war  with  the  Normans,  under  which  name  it  suited  Hereward’s 
prepossessions  to  represent  the  Emperor’s  wars  with  Robert  Guiscard,  his 
son  Bohemond,  and  other  adventurers,  in  Italy,  Greece,  or  Sicily.  A  jour¬ 
ney  to  the  East  also  inferred  a  pilgrimage,  and  gave  the  unfortunate  Ilere- 
ward  the  chance  of  purchasing  pardon  for  his  sins  by  visiting  the  Holy 
Land.  In  gaining  Hereward,  the  recruiter  also  secured  the  services  of  his 
elder  brother,  who  had  vowed  not  to  separate  from  him. 

The  high  character  of  both  brothers  for  courage,  induced  this  wily  agent 
to  consider  them  as  a  great  prize,  and  it  was  from  the  memoranda  respect¬ 
ing  the  history  and  character  of  those  whom  he  recruited,  in  which  the 
elder  had  been  unreservedly  communicative,  that  Agelastes  picked  up  the 
information  respecting  Hereward’s  family  and  circumstances,  which,  at 
their  first  secret  interview,  he  made  use  of  to  impress  upon  the  Varangian 
the  idea  of  his  supernatural  knowledge.  Several  of  his  companions  in  arms 
were  thus  gained  over ;  for  it  will  easily  be  guessed,  that  these  memorials 
were  intrusted  to  the  keeping  of  Achilles  Tatius,  and  he,  to  further  their 
joint  purposes,  imparted  them  to  Agelastes,  who  thus  obtained  a  general 
credit  for  supernatural  knowledge  among  these  ignorant  men.  But  Here¬ 
ward’s  blunt  faith  and  honesty  enabled  him  to  shun  the  snare. 

Such  being  the  fortunes  of  Hereward,  those  of  Bertha  formed  the  subject 
of  a  broken  and  passionate  communication  between  the  lovers,  broken  like 
an  April  day,  and  mingled  wdth  many  a  tender  caress,  such  as  modesty 
permits  to  lovers  when  they  meet  again  unexpectedly  after  a  separation, 
which  threatened  to  be  eternal.  But  the  story  may  be  comprehended  in 
few  words.  Amid  the  general  sack  of  the  monastery,  an  old  Norman  knight 
seized  upon  Bertha  as  his  prize.  Struck  with  her  beauty,  he  designed  her 
as  an  attendant  upon  his  daughter,  just  then  come  out  of  the  years  of  child¬ 
hood,  and  the  very  apple  of  her  father’s  eye,  being  the  only  child  of  his 
beloved  Countess,  and  sent  late  in  life  to  bless  their  marriage-bed.  It  was 
in  the  order  of  things  that  the  lady  of  Aspramonte,  who  was  considerably 
younger  than  the  knight,  should  govern  her  husband,  and  that  Brenhilda, 
their  daughter,  should  govern  both  her  parents. 

The  Knight  of  Aspramonte,  however,  it  may  be  observed,  entertained 
some  desire  to  direct  his  young  offspring  to  more  feminine  amusements 
than  those  which  began  already  to  put  her  life  frequently  in  danger.  Con¬ 
tradiction  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  as  the  good  old  knight  knew  by  expe¬ 
rience.  The  influence  and  example  of  a  companion  a  little  older  than  her¬ 
self  might  be  of  some  avail,  and  it  was  with  this  view  that,  in  the  confusion 
of  the  sack,  Aspramonte  seized  upon  the  youthful  Bertha.  Terrified  to  the 
utmost  degree,  she  clung  to  her  mother,  and  the  Knight  of  Aspramonte, 
who  had  a  softer  heart  than  was  then  usually  found  under  a  steel  cuirass, 
moved  by  the  affliction  of  the  mother  and  daughter,  and  recollecting  that 
the  former  might  also  be  a  useful  attendant  upon  his  lady,  extended  his 
protection  to  both,  and  conveying  them  out  of  the  press,  paid  the  soldiers 
who  ventured  to  dispute  the  spoil  with  him,  partly  in  some  small  pieces  of 
money,  and  partly  in  dry  blows  with  the  reverse  of  his  lance. 

The  well-natured  knight  soon  after  returned  to  his  own  castle,  and  being 
a  man  of  an  orderly  life  and  virtuous  habits,  the  charming  beauties  of  the 
Saxon  virgin,  and  the  more  ripened  charms  of  her  mother,  did  not  prevent 
their  travelling  in  all  honour  as  well  as  safety  to  his  family  fortress,  the 
castle  of  Aspramonte.  Here  such  masters  as  could  be  procured  were  got 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


167 


together  to  tench  the  young  Bertha  every  sort  of  female  accomplishment,  in 
the  hope  that  her  mistress,  Brenhilda,  might  be  inspired  Avith  a  desire  to 
partake  in  her  education  ;  but  although  this  so  far  succeeded,  that  the  Saxon 
captive  became  highly  skilled  in  such  music,  needle-work,  and  other  female 
accomplishments  as  Avere  knoAvn  to  the  time,  yet  her  young  mistress,  Bren- 
hilda,  retained  the  taste  for  those  martial  amusements  which  had  so  sensibly 
grieved  her  father,  but  to  which  her  mother,  who  herself  had  nourished 
such  fancies  in  her  youth,  readily  gaA^e  sanction. 

The  captives,  hoAvever,  Avere  kindly  treated.  Brenhilda  became  infinitely 
attached  to  the  young  Anglo-Saxon,  whom  she  loved  less  for  her  ingenuity 
in  arts,  than  for  her  activity  in  field  sports,  to  which  her  early  state  of  inde¬ 
pendence  had  trained  her. 

The  Lady  of  Aspramonte  Avas  also  kind  to  both  the  captives ;  but,  in  one 
particular,  she  exercised  a  piece  of  petty  tyranny  OA^er  them.  She  had 
imbibed  an  idea,  strengthened  by  an  old  doting  father-confessor,  that  the 
Saxons  Avere  heathens  at  that  time,  or  at  least  heretics,  and  made  a  positive 
point  Avith  her  husband  that  the  bondswoman  and  girl  Avho  Avere  to  attend 
on  her  person  and  that  of  her  daughter,  should  be  qualified  for  the  office  by 
being  aneAV  admitted  into  the  Christian  Church  by  baptism. 

Though  feeling  the  falsehood  and  injustice  of  the  accusation,  the  mother 
had  sense  enough  to  submit  to  necessity,  and  received  the  name  of  Martha 
in  all  form  at' the  altar,  to  Avhich  she  ansAvered  during  the  rest  of  her  life. 

But  Bertha  shoAved  a  character  upon  this  occasion  inconsistent  Avith  the 
general  docility  and  gentleness  of  her  temper.  She  boldly  refused  to  be 
admitted  aneAV  into  the  pale  of  the  Church,  of  which  her  conscience  told 
her  she  Avas  already  a  member,  or  to  exchange  for  another  the  name  origi¬ 
nally  given  her  at  the  font.  It  Avas  in  vain  that  the  old  knight  commanded, 
that  the  lady  threatened,  and  that  her  mother  advised  and  entreated.  INIore 
closely  pressed  in  private  by  her  mother,  she  let  her  motive  be  known,  which 
had  not  before  been  suspected.  “  1  knoAV,^’  she  said,  with  a  flood  of  tears, 
“that  my  father  Avould  have  died  ere  1  Avas  subjected  to  this  insult;  and 
then — who  shall  assure  me  that  voavs  Avhich  were  made  to  the  Saxon  Bertha, 
will  be  binding  if  a  French  Agatha  be  substituted  in  her  stead?  They  may 
banish  me,’’  she  said,  “  or  kill  me  if  they  Avill,  but  if  the  son  of  AValtheoff 
should  ag9,in  meet  Avith  the  daughter  of  Engelred,  he  shall  meet  that  Bertha 
Avhom  he  kneAV  in  the  forests  of  Hampton.” 

All  argument  Avas  in  vain  ;  the  Saxon  maiden  remained  obstinate,  and  to 
try  to  break  her  resolution,  the  Lady  of  Aspramonte  at  length  spoke  of  dis¬ 
missing  her  from  the  service  of  her  young  mistress,  and  banishing  her  from 
the  castle.  To  this  also  she  had  made  up  her  mind,  and  she  answered  firmly 
though  respectfully,  that  she  Avould  sorrow  bitterly  at  parting  with  her 
young  lady^ ;  but  as  to  the  rest,  she  Avould  rather  beg  under  her  OAvn  name, 
than  be  recreant  to  the  faith  of  her  fathers  and  condemn  it  as  heresy,  by 
assuming  one  of  Frank  origin.  The  Lady  Brenhilda,  in  the  meantime, 
entered  the  chamber,  Avhere  her  mother  was  just  about  to  pass  the  threatened 
doom  of  banishment.  —  “Do  not  stop  for  my  entrance,  madam,”  said  the 
dauntless  young  lady ;  “lam  as  much  concerned  in  the  doom  Avhich  you 
are  about  to  pass  as  is  Bertha;  if  she  crosses  the  dr.iAvbridge  of  Aspra- 
monte  as  an  exile,  so  Avill  I,  Avhen  she  has  dried  her  tears,  i)f  which  even 
my  petulance  could  never  Avring  one  from  her  eyes.  She  shall  be  my  squire 
and  body  attendant,  and  Launcelot,  the  bard,  shall  follow  Avith  my  spear 
and  shield.” 

“  And  you  avIU  return,  mistress,”  said  her  mother,  “  from  so  foolish  an 
expedition,  before  the  sun  sets  ?” 

“  So  heaven  further  me  in  my  purpose,  lady,”  answered  the  young  heiress, 
“  the  sun  shall  neither  rise  nor  set  that  sees  us  return,  till  this  name  of 
Bertha,  and  of  her  mistress,  Brenhilda,  are  Avafted  as  far  as  the  trumpet  of 
fame  can  sound  them. — Cheer  up,  my  SAveetest  Bertha  !”  she  said,  taking 


168 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


her  attendant  by  the  hand,  “if  heaven  hath  torn  thee  from  thy  country  and 
thy  plighted  troth,  it  hath  given  thee  a  sister  and  a  friend,  with  whom  thy 
fame  shall  be  forever  blended/^ 

The  Lady  of  Aspramonte  was  confounded  :  She  knew  that  her  daughter 
was  perfectly  capable  of  the  wild  course  which  she  had  announced,  and  that 
she  herself,  even  with  her  husband’s  assistance,  would  be  unable  to  prevent 
her  following  it.  She  passively  listened,  therefore,  while  the  Saxon  matron, 
formerly  Urica,  but  now  Martha,  addressed  her  daughter.  “My  child,” 
she  said,  “  as  you  value  honour,  virtue,  safety,  and  gratitude,  soften  your 
heart  towards  your  master  and  mistress,  and  follow  the  advice  of  a  parent, 
M'ho  has  more  years  and  more  judgment  than  you.  And  you,  my  dearest 
young  lady,  let  not  your  lady-mother  think  that  an  attachment  to  the 
exercises  you  excel  in,  has  destroyed  in  your  bosom  filial  affection,  and  a 
regard  to  the  delicacy  of  your  sex  ! — As  they  seem  both  obstinate,  madam,” 
continued  the  matron,  after  watching  the  influence  of  this  advice  upon  the 
young  woman,  “  perhaps,  if  it  may  be  permitted  me,  I  could  state  an  alter¬ 
native,  which  might,  in  the  meanwhile,  satisfy  your  ladyship’s  wishes, 
accommodate  itself  to  the  wilfulness  of  my  obstinate  daughter,  and  answer 
the  kind  purpose  of  her  generous  mistress,”  The  Lady  of  Aspramonte 
signed  to  the  Saxon  matron  to  proceed.  She  went  on  accordingly :  “  The 
Saxons,  dearest  lady,  of  the  present  day,  are  neither  pagans  nor  heretics  ; 
they  are,  in  the  time  of  keeping  Easter,  as  well  as  in  all  other  disputable 
doctrine,  humbly  obedient  to  the  Pope  of  Rome ;  and  this  our  good  Bishop 
well  knows,  since  he  upbraided  some  of  the  domestics  for  calling  me  an  old 
heathen.  Yet  our  names  are  uncouth  in  the  ears  of  the  Franks,  and  bear, 
perhaps,  a  heathenish  sound.  If  it  be  not  exacted  that  my  daughter  submit 
to  a  new  rite  of  baptism,  she  will  lay  aside  her  Saxon  name  of  Bertha  upon 
all  occasions  while  in  your  honourable  household.  This  will  cut  short  a 
debate  which,  with  forgiveness,  I  think  is  scarce  of  importance  enough  to 
break  the  peace  of  this  castle.  I  will  engage  that,  in  gratitude  for  this 
indulgence  of  a  trifling  scruple,  my  daughter,  if  possible,  shall  double  the 
zeal  and  assiduity  of  her  service  to  her  young  lady.” 

The  Lady  of  Aspramonte  was  glad  to  embrace  the  means  which  this 
offer  presented,  of  extricating  herself  from  the  dispute  with  as  little  com¬ 
promise  of  dignity  as  could  well  be.  “  If  the  good  Lord  Bishop  approved 
of  such  a  compromise,”  she  said,  “  she  would  for  herself  withdraw  her 
opposition.”  The  prelate  approved  accordingly,  the  more  readily  that  he 
was  informed  that  the  young  heiress  desired  earnestly  such  an  agreement. 
The  peace  of  the  castle  was  restored,  and  Bertha  recognized  her  new  name 
of  Agatha  as  a  name  of  service,  but  not  a  name  of  baptism. 

One  effect  the  dispute  certainly  produced,  and  that  was,  increasing  in  an 
enthusiastic  degree  the  love  of  Bertha  for  her  young  mistress,  AVith  that 
amiable  failing  of  attached  domestics  and  humble  friends,  she  endeavoured 
to  serve  her  as  she  knew  she  loved  to  be  served ;  and  therefore  indulged  her 
mistress  in  those  chivalrous  flxncies  which  distinguished  her  even  in  her 
own  age,  and  in  ours  would  have  rendered  her  a  female  Quixote.  Bertha, 
indeed,  never  caught  the  frenzy  of  her  mistress ;  but,  strong,  willing,  and 
able-bodied,  she  readily  qualified  herself  to  act  upon  occasion  as  a  squire 
of  the  body  to  a  Lady  Adventuress  ;  and,  accustomed  from  her  childhood 
to  see  blows  dealt,  blood  flowing,  and  men  dying,  she  could  look  with  an 
undazzled  eye  upon  the  dangers  which  her  mistress  encountered,  and  seldom 
teased  her  with  remonstrances,  unless  when  those  were  unusually  great. 
This  compliance  on  most  occasions,  gave  Bertha  a  right  of  advice  upon  some, 
which,  always  given  with  the  best  intentions  and  at  fitting  times,  strength¬ 
ened  her  influence  with  her  mistress,  which  a  course  of  conduct  savouring 
of  diametrical  opposition  would  certainly  have  destroyed. 

A  few  more  words  serve  to  announce  the  death  of  the  Knight  of  Aspra- 
moutc  —  the  romantic  marriage  of  the  young  lady  with  the  Count  of  Paris 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS.  IGO 


—  their  engagement  in  the  crusade  —  and  the  detail  of  events  with  which 
the  reader  is  acquainted. 

llereward  did  not  exactly  comprehend  some  of  the  later  incidents  of  the 
story,  owing  to  a  slight  strife  which  arose  between  Bertha  and  him  during 
the  course  of  her  narrative.  When  she  avowed  the  girlish  simplicity  with 
which  she  obstinately  refused  to  change  her  name,  because,  in  her  appre¬ 
hension,  the  troth-plight  betwixt  her  and  her  lover  might  be  thereby  preju¬ 
diced,  it  was  impossible  for  llereward  not  to  acknowledge  her  tenderness, 
by  snatching  her  to  his  bosom,  and  impressing  his  grateful  thanks  upon  her 
lips.  She  extricated  herself  immediately  from  his  grasp,  however,  with 
cheeks  more  crimsoned  in  modesty  than  in  anger,  and  gravely  addressed 
her  lover  thus :  “  Enough,  enough,  llereward  !  this  may  be  pardoned  to  so 
unexpected  a  meeting ;  but  we  must  in  future  remember,  that  w^e  are  pro¬ 
bably  the  last  of  our  race ;  and  let  it  not  be  said,  that  the  manners  of  their 
ancestors  were  forgotten  by  llereward  and  by  Bertha ;  think,  that  though 
'  we  are  alone,  the  shades  of  our  fathers  are  not  fiir  off,  and  watch  to  see 
what  use  we  make  of  the  meeting,  which,  perhaps,  their  intercession  has 
procured  us.^’ 

“  You  wrong  me,  Bertha,^^  said  llereward,  “  if  you  think  me  capable  of 
forgetting  my  own  duty  and  yours,  at  a  moment  when  our  thanks  are  duo 
to  Ileaven,  to  be  testified  very  differently  than  by  infringing  on  its  behests, 
or  the  commands  of  our  parents.  The  question  is  now,  IIow  we  shall  rejoin 
each  other  when  we  separate  ?  since  separate,  I  fear,  we  must.’^ 

“  0  !  do  not  say  so  I”  exclaimed  the  unfortunate  Bertha. 

“  It  must  be  so,”  said  llereward,  “  for  a  time ;  but  I  swear  to  thee  by  the 
hilt  of  my  sw'ord,  and  the  handle  of  my  battle-axe,  that  blade  was  never  so 
true  to  shaft  as  I  will  be  to  thee !” 

“  But  wherefore,  then,  leave  me,  llereward  ?”  said  the  maiden  ;  “  and  oh! 
wherefore  not  assist  me  in  the  release  of  my  mistress?” 

“  Of  thy  mistress  1”  said  llereward.  “  Shame!  that  thou  canst  give  that 
name  to  mortal  woman!” 

“  But  she  is  my  mistress,”  answered  Bertha,  “  and  by  a  thousand  kind 
ties  which  cannot  be  separated  so  long  as  gratitude  is  the  reward  of  kind¬ 


ness 


)> 


“  And  what  is  her  danger,”  said  llereward ;  “  what  is  it  she  wants,  this 
accomplished  lady  whom  thou  callest  mistress?” 

“  Her  honour,  her  life,  are  alike  in  danger,”  said  Bertha.  “  She  has 
agreed  to  meet  the  Caesar  in  the  field,  and  he  will  not  hesitate,  like  a  base- 
born  miscreant,  to  take  every  advantage  in  the  encounter,  which,  I  grieve 
to  say,  may  in  all  likelihood  be  fatal  to  my  mistress,” 

“  Why  dost  thou  think  so  ?”  answered  llereward.  “  This  lady  has  won 
many  single  combats,  unless  she  is  belied,  against  adversaries  more  for¬ 
midable  than  the  Caesar.” 

“  True,”  said  the  Saxon  maiden  ;  “  but  you  speak  of  things  that  passed 
in  a  fiir  different  land,  where  faith  and  honour  are  not  empty  sounds  ;  as, 
alas !  they  seem  but  too  surely  to  be  here.  Trust  me,  it  is  no  girlish  terror 
which  sends  me  out  in  this  disguise  of  my  country  dress,  which,  they  say, 
finds  respect  at  Constantinople :  I  go  to  let  the  chiefs  of  the  Crusade  know 
the  peril  in  which  the  noble  lady  stands,  and  trust  to  their  humanity,  to 
their  religion,  to  their  love  of  honour,  and  fear  of  disgrace,  for  assistance 
in  this  hour  of  need  ;  and  now  that  I  have  had  the  blessing  of  meeting  with 
thee,  all  besides  will  go  well  —  all  will  go  well  —  and  I  ■will  back  to  my 
mistress  and  report  whom  I  have  seen.” 

“  Tarry  yet  another  moment,  my  recovered  treasure  !”  said  llereward, 
“  and  let  me  balance  this  matter  carefully.  This  Frankish  lady  holds  the 
Saxons  like  the  very  dust  that  thou  brushest  from  the  hem  of  her  garment. 
She  treats  —  she  regards  —  the  Saxons  as  pagans  and  heretics.  She  has 
dared  to  impose  slavish  tasks  upon  thee,  born  in  freedom.  Her  father’s 


I* 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


170 

sword  has  been  embrued  to  the  hilt  with  Anglo-Saxon  blood — perhaps  that 
of  Waltheoff  and  Engelred  has  added  death  to  the  stain!  She  has  been, 
besides,  a  presumptuous  fool,  usurping  for  herself  the  trophies  and  warlike 
character  which  belong  to  the  other  sex.  Lastly,  it  will  be  hard  to  find  a 
champion  to  fight  in  her  stead,  since  all  the  crusaders  have  passed  over  to 
Asia,  which  is  the  land,  they  say,  in  which  they  have  come  to  war  ;  and  by 
orders  of  the  Emperor,  no  means  of  return  to  the  hither  shore  will  be  per¬ 
mitted  to  any  of  them.’^ 

“  Alas  1  alas  1’^  said  Bertha,  “  how  does  this  world  change  us  !  The  son 
of  WaltheofiT  I  once  knew  brave,  ready  to  assist  distress,  bold  and  generous. 
Such  was  what  I  pictured  him  to  myself  during  his  absence.  I  have  met 
him  again,  and  he  is  calculating,  cold,  and  selfish 

“Hush,  damsel,^'  said  the  Varangian,  “and  know  him  of  whom  thou 
speakest,  ere  thou  judgest  him.  The  Countess  of  Paris  is  such  as  I  have 
said ;  yet  let  her  appear  boldly  in  the  lists,  and  when  the  trumpet  shall 
sound  thrice,  another  shall  reply,  which  shall  announce  the  arrival  of  her 
own  noble  lord  to  do  battle  in  her  stead  ;  or  should  he  fail  to  appear  —  I 
will  requite  her  kindness  to  thee,  Bertha,  and  be  ready  in  his  place.” 

“  Wilt  thou?  wilt  thou  indeed  V’  said  the  damsel ;  “  that  was  spoken  like 
the  son  of  Waltheoff — like  the  genuine  stock!  I  will  home,  and  comfort 
my  mistress  ;  for  surely  if  the  judgment  of  God  ever  directed  the  issue  of  a 
judicial  combat,  its  influence  will  descend  upon  this.  But  you  hint  that 
the  Count  is  here — that  he  is  at  liberty — she  will  enquire  about  that.” 

“  She  must  be  satisfied,”  replied  Hereward,  “  to  know  that  her  husband 
is  under  the  guidance  of  a  friend,  who  will  endeavour  to  protect  him  from 
his  own  extravagances  and  follies ;  or,  at  all  events,  of  one  who,  if  he  can¬ 
not  properly  be  called  a  friend,  has  certainly  not  acted,  and  will  not  act, 
towards  him  the  part  of  an  enemy.  —  And  now,  farewell,  long  lost  —  long 

loved  !” - Before  he  could  say  more,  the  Saxon  maiden,  after  two  or  three 

vain  attempts  to  express  her  gratitude,  threw  herself  into  her  lover’s  arms, 
and  despite  the  coyness  which  she  had  recently  shown,  impressed  upon  his 
lips  the  thanks  which  she  could  not  speak. 

They  parted,  Bertha  returning  to  her  mistress  at  the  lodge,  which  she 
had  left  both  with  trouble  and  danger,  and  Hereward  by  the  portal  kept  by 
the  negro-portress,  who,  complimenting  the  handsome  Varangian  on  his 
success  among  the  fair,  intimated,  that  she  had  been  in  some  sort  a  witness 
of  his  meeting  with  the  Saxon  damsel.  A  piece  of  gold,  part  of  a  late 
largesse,  amply  served  to  bribe  her  tongue ;  and  the  soldier,  clear  of  the 
gardens  of  the  philosopher,  sped  back  as  he  might  to  the  barrack — -judging 
that  it  was  full  time  to  carry  some  supply  to  Count  Robert,  who  had  been 
left  without  food  the  whole  day. 

It  is  a  common  popular  saying,  that  as  the  sensation  of  hunger  is  not 
connected  with  any  pleasing  or  gentle  emotion,  so  it  is  particularly  remark¬ 
able  for  irritating  those  of  anger  and  spleen.  It  is  not,  therefore,  very  sur¬ 
prising  that  Count  Robert,  who  had  been  so  unusually  long  without  suste¬ 
nance,  should  receive  Hereward  with  a  degree  of  impatience  beyond  what 
the  occasion  merited,  and  injurious  certainly  to  the  honest  Varangian,  who 
had  repeatedly  exposed  his  life  that  day  for  the  interest  of  the  Countess 
and  the  Count  himself. 

“  Soil,  sir !”  he  said,  in  that  accent  of  affected  restraint  by  which  a  supe¬ 
rior  modifies  his  displeasure  against  his  inferior  into  a  cold  and  scornful 
expression — “You  have  played  a  liberal  host  to  us! — Not  that  it  is  of  con¬ 
sequence  ;  but  methinks  a  Count  of  the  most  Christian  kingdom  dines  not 
every  day  with  a  mercenary  soldier,  and  might  expect,  if  not  the  ostenta¬ 
tious,  at  least  the  needful  part  of  hospitality.” 

“And  methinks,”  replied  the  Varangian,  “0  most  Christian  Count,  that 
such  of  your  high  rank  as,  by  choice  or  fate,  become  the  guests  of  such  as 
I,  may  think  themselves  pleased,  and  blame  not  their  host’s  niggardliness, 


COUNT  U  0  B  E  R  T  OF  PARIS. 


171 

but  the  difficulty  of  his  circumstances,  if  dinner  should  not  present  itself 
oftener  than  once  in  four-and-twenty  hours. So  sayin^,  he  clapt  his  hands 
together,  and  his  domestic  Edric  entered.  Ilis  guest  looked  astonished  at 
the  entrance  of  this  third  party  into  their  retirement.  “  I  will  answer  for 
this  man,’'  said  Ilereward,  and  addressed  him  in  the  following  words:  — 
“What  food  hast  thou,  Edric,  to  place  before  the  honourable  Count?” 

“Nothing  but  the  cold  pasty,”  replied  the  attendant,  “marvellously 
damaged  by  your  honour’s  encounter  at  breakfast.” 

The  military  domestic,  as  intimated,  brought  forward  a  large  pasty,  but 
which  had  already  that  morning  sustained  a  furious  attack,  insomuch,  that 
Count  Hubert  of  Paris,  who,  like  all  noble  Normans,  was  somewhat  nice 
and  delicate  in  his  eating,  was  in  some  doubt  whether  his  scrupulousness 
should  not  prevail  over  his  hunger ;  but  on  looking  more  closely,  sight, 
smell,  and  a  fast  of  twenty  hours,  joined  to  convince  him  that  the  pasty 
was  an  excellent  one,  and  that  the  charger  on  which  it  was  presented 
possessed  corners  yet  untouched.  At  length,  having  suppressed  his  scru¬ 
ples,  and  made  bold  inroad  upon  the  remains  of  the  dish,  he  paused  to 
partake  of  a  flask  of  strong  red  wine  which  stood  invitingly  beside  him, 
and  a  lusty  draught  increased  the  good-humour  which  had  begun  to  take 
place  towards  Ilereward,  in  exchange  for  the  displeasure  with  which  he 
had  received  him. 

“  Now,  by  heaven  !”  he  said,  “  I  myself  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  lack  the 
courtesy  which  I  recommend  to  others !  Here  have  I,  with  the  manners 
of  a  Flemish  boor,  been  devouring  the  provisions  of  my  gallant  host,  with¬ 
out  even  asking  him  to  sit  down  at  his  own  table,  and  to  partake  of  his  own 
good  cheer !” 

“I  will  not  strain  courtesies  with  you  for  that,”  said  Ilereward;  and 
thrusting  his  hand  into  the  pasty,  he  proceeded  with  great  speed  and  dex¬ 
terity  to  devour  the  miscellaneous  contents,  a  handful  of  which  was  enclosed 
in  his  grasp.  The  Count  now  withdrew  from  the  table,  partly  in  disgust  at 
the  rustic  proceedings  of  Ilereward,  who,  however,  by  now  calling  Edric 
to  join  him  in  his  attack  upon  the  pasty,  showed  that  he  had,  in  fact,  ac¬ 
cording  to  his  manners,  subjected  himself  previously  to  some  observance 
of  respect  towards  his  guest ;  while  the  assistance  of  his  attendant  enabled 
him  to  make  a  clear  cacaabulum  of  what  was  left.  Count  Robert  at  length 
summoned  up  courage  sufficient  to  put  a  question,  which  had  been  trembling 
upon  his  lips  ever  since  Ilereward  had  returned. 

“  Have  thine  enquiries,  my  gallant  friend,  learned  more  concerning  my 
unfortunate  wife,  my  faithful  Brenhilda?” 

“  Tidings  I  have,”  said  the  Anglo-Saxon,  “  but  whether  pleasing  or  not, 
yourself  must  be  the  judge.  This  much  I  have  learned  ; — she  hath,  as  you 
know,  come  under  an  engagement  to  meet  the  Caesar  in  arms  in  the  lists, 
but  under  conditions  which  you  may  perhaps  think  strange ;  these,  how¬ 
ever,  she  hath  entertained  without  scruple.” 

“  Let  me  know  these  terms,”  said  the  Count  of  Paris ;  “  they  will,  I 
think,  appear  less  strange  in  my  eyes  than  in  thine.” 

But  while  he  afiected  to  speak  with  the  utmost  coolness,  the  husband’s 
sparkling  eye  and  crimsoned  cheek  betrayed  the  alteration  which  had  taken 
place  in  his  feelings.  “  The  lady  and  the  Caesar,”  said  Ilereward,  “  as  you 
partly  heard  yourself,  are  to  meet  in  fight ;  if  the  Countess  wins,  of  course 
she  remains  the  wife  of  the  noble  Count  of  Paris  ;  if  she  loses,  she  becomes 
the  paramour  of  the  Caesar  Nicephorus  Briennius.” 

“Saints  and  angels  forbid!”  said  Count  Robert;  “  were  they  to  permit 
such  treason  to  triumph,  we  might  be  pardoned  for  doubting  their 
divinity  !  ” 

“Yet  methinks,”  said  the  Anglo-Saxon,  “it  were  no  disgraceful  precau¬ 
tion  that  both  you  and  I,  with  other  friends,  if  Ave  can  obtain  such,  should 
bo  seen  under  shield  in  the  lists  on  the  morning  of  the  conflict.  To  triumph. 


172 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


or  to  be  defeated,  is  in  the  hand  of  fate ;  but  what  we  cannot  fail  to  witness 
is,  whether  or  not  the  lady  receives  that  fair  play  which  is  the  due  of  an 
honourable  combatant,  and  which,  as  you  have  yourself  seen,  can  be  some¬ 
times  basely  transgressed  in  this  Grecian  empire.'^ 

“On  that  condition,’^  said  the  Count,  “  and  protesting,  that  not  even  the 
extreme  danger  of  my  lady  shall  make  me  break  through  the  rule  of  a  fair 
tight,  I  will  surely  attend  the  lists,  if  thou,  brave  Saxon,  canst  find  me  any 
means  of  doing  so. — Yet  stay,^^  he  continued,  after  reflecting  for  a  moment, 
“thou  shalt  promise  not  to  let  her  know  that  her  Count  is  on  the  field,  far 
less  to  point  him  out  to  her  eye  among  the  press  of  warriors.  0,  thou  dost 
not  know  that  the  sight  of  the  beloved  will  sometimes  steal  from  us  our 
courage,  even  when  it  has  most  to  achieve 

“  We  will  endeavour, said  the  Varangian,  “  to  arrange  matters  according 
to  thy  pleasure,  so  that  thou  findest  out  no  more  fantastical  difficulties ;  for, 
by  my  word,  an  affair  so  complicated  in  itself,  requires  not  to  be  confused 
by  the  fine-spun  whims  of  thy  national  gallantry.  Meantime,  much  must 
be  done  this  night ;  and  while  I  go  about  it,  thou,  Sir  Knight,  hadst  best 
remain  here,  with  such  disguise  of  garments,  and  such  food,  as  Edric  may 
be  able  to  procure  for  thee.  Fear  nothing  from  intrusion  on  the  part  of  thy 
neighbours.  We  Varangians  respect  each  other’s  secrets,  of  whatever  nature 
they  may  chance  to  be.” 


Cliaiittr  tjiB  (KuiEntii'/irst. 

But  for  our  trusty  brother-in-law — and  the  Abbot, 

With  all  the  rest  of  that  consorted  crew, — 

Destruction  slraig:ht  shall  dog  them  at  the  heels 
Good  uncle,  help  to  order  several  powers 
To  Oxford,  or  where’er  these  traitors  are  : 

They  shall  not  live  within  this  world,  1  swear. 

Kichard  II. 

As  Hereward  spoke  the  last  words  narrated  in  the  foregoing  chapter,  he 
left  the  count  in  his  apartment,  and  proceeded  to  the  Blacquernal  Palace. 
We  traced  his  first  entrance  into  the  court,  but  since  then  he  had  frequently 
been  summoned,  not  only  by  order  of  the  Princess  Anna  Comnena,  who 
delighted  in  asking  him  questions  concerning  the  customs  of  his  native 
country,  and  marking  down  the  replies  in  her  own  inflated  language ;  but 
also  by  the  direct  command  of  the  Emperor  himself,  who  had  the  humour 
of  many  princes,  that  of  desiring  to  obtain  direct  information  from  persons 
in  a  very  inferior  station  in  their  Court.  The  ring  which  the  Princess  had 
given  to  the  Varangian,  served  as  a  pass-token  more  than  once,  and  was 
now  so  generally  known  by  the  slaves  of  the  palace,  that  Hereward  had  only 
to  slip  it  into  the  hand  of  a  principal  person  among  them,  and  was  intro¬ 
duced  into  a  small  chamber,  not  distant  from  the  saloon  already  mentioned, 
dedicated  to  the  Muses.  In  this  small  apartment,  the  Emperor,  his  spouse 
Irene,  and  their  accomplished  daughter  Anna  Comnena,  were  seated 
together,  clad  in  very  ordinary  apparel,  as  indeed  the  furniture  of  the  room 
itself  was  of  the  kind  used  %  respectable  citizens,  saving  that  mattrasses, 
composed  of  eiderdown,  hung  before  each  door  to  prevent  the  risk  of  eaves¬ 
dropping. 

“Our  trusty  Varangian,”  said  the  Empress. 

“  My  guide  and  tutor  respecting  the  manners  of  those  steel-clad  men,” 


\ 

COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS.  173 

said  the  Princess  Anna  Comnena,  “  of  whom  it  is  so  necessary  that  I  should 
form  an  accurate  idea.’^ 

“  Your  Imperial  Majesty,”  said  the  Empress,  “  will  not,  I  trust,  think 
your  consort  and  your  muse-inspired  daughter,  are  too  many  to  share  with 
you  the  intelligence  brought  by  this  brave  and  loyal  man  ?” 

“  Dearest  wife  and  daughter,”  returned  the  Emperor,  “I  have  hitherto 
spared  you  the  burden  of  a  painful  secret,  which  I  have  locked  in  my  own 
bosom,  at  whatever  expense  of  solitary  sorrow  and  unimparted  anxiety. 

Noble  daughter,  ^^ou  in  particular  will  feel  this  calamity,  learning,  as  you 
must  learn,  to  think  odiously  of  one,  of  whom  it  has  hitherto  been  your  duty 
to  hold  a  very  different  opinion.” 

“  Holy  Mary  !”  exclaimed  the  Princess. 

“Rally  yourself,”  said  the  Emperor;  “remember  you  are  a  child  of  the 
purple  chamber,  born,  not  to  weep  for  your  father’s  wrongs,  but  to  avenge 
them,  —  not  to  regard  even  him  who  has  lain  by  your  side  as  half  so 
important  as  the  sacred  Imperial  grandeur,  of  which  you  are  yourself  a 
partaker.” 

“  What  can  such  words  preface?”  said  Anna  Comnena,  in  great  agitation. 

“  They  say,”  answered  the  Emperor,  “  that  the  Caesar  is  an  ungrateful 
man  to  all  my  bounties,  and  even  to  that  which  annexed  him  to  my  own 
house,  and  made  him  by  adoption  my  own  son.  He  hath  consorted  himself 
with  a  knot  of  traitors,  whose  very  names  are  enough  to  raise  the  foul  fiend, 
as  if  to  snatch  his  assured  prey !” 

“Could  Nicephorus  do  this?”  said  the  astonished  and  forlorn  Princess; 
“Nicephorus,  w^ho  has  so  often  called  my  eyes  the  lights  by  which  he  steered 
his  path  ?  Could  he  do  this  to  my  father,  to  whose  exploits  he  has  listened 
hour  after  hour,  protesting  that  he  knew  not  whether  it  was  the  beauty  of 
the  language,  or  the  heroism  of  the  action,  which  most  enchanted  him? 
Thinking  with  the  same  thought,  seeing  with  the  same  eye,  loving  with  the 
same  heart,  —  0,  my  father!  it  is  impossible  that  he  could  be  so  false. 

Think  of  the  neighbouring  Temple  of  the  Muses  1” 

“  And  if  I  did,”  murmured  Alexius  in  his  heart,  “  I  should  think  of  the 
only  apology  which  could  be  proposed  for  the  traitor.  A  little  is  well 
enough,  but  the  full  soul  loatheth  the  honey-comb.”  Then  speaking  aloud, 

“  My  daughter,”  he  said,  “  be  comforted ;  we  ourselves  were  unwilling  to 
believe  the  shameful  truth  ;  but  our  guards  have  been  debauched ;  their 
commander,  that  ungrateful  Achilles  Tatius,  with  the  equal  traitor.  Age-  . 
lastes,  have  been  seduced  to  favour  our  imprisonment  or  murder ;  and,  alas 
for  Greece !  in  the  very  moment  when  she  required  the  fostering  care  of  a 
parent,  she  was  to  be  deprived  of  him  by  a  sudden  and  merciless  blow  1” 

Here  the  Emperor  wept,  whether  for  the  loss  to  be  sustained  by  his  sub¬ 
jects,  or  of  his  own  life,  it  is  hard  to  say. 

“  Methinks,”  said  Irene,  “your  Imperial  Highness  is  slow  in  taking  mea¬ 
sures  against  the  danger.” 

“Under  your  gracious  permission,  mother,”  answered  the  Princess,  “I 
would  rather  say  he  was  hasty  in  giving  belief  to  it.  Methinks  the  evi¬ 
dence  of  a  Varangian,  granting  him  to  be  ever  so  stout  a  man-at-arms,  is 
but  a  frail  guarantee  against  the  honour  of  your  son-in-law — the  approved 
bravery  and  fidelity  of  the  captain  of  your  guards — the  deep  sense,  virtue, 
and  profound  wisdom  of  the  greatest  of  your  philosophers” - 

“  And  the  conceit  of  an  over-educated  daughter,”  said  the  Emperor, 

“who  will  not  allow  her  parent  to  judge  in  what  most  concerns  him.  I 
will  tell  thee,  Anna,  1  know  every  one  of  them,  and  the  trust  which  may 
be  reposed  in  them;  the  honour  of  your  Nicephorus  —  the  bravery  and 
fidelity  of  the  Acolyte  —  and  the  virtue  and  wisdom  of  Agelastes  —  have  I 
not  had  them  all  in  my  purse?  And  had  my  purse  continued  well  filled, 
and  my  arm  strong  as  it  was  of  late,  there  they  would  have  still  remained. 

But  the  butterflies  went  off  as  the  weather  became  cold,  and  I  must  meet 


174 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


the  tempest  without  their  assistance.  You  talk  of  want  of  proof?  I  have 
proof  sufficient  when  I  see  danger ;  this  honest  soldier  brought  me  indica¬ 
tions  which  corresponded  with  my  own  private  remarks,  made  on  purpose. 
Varangian  he  shall  be  of  Varangians ;  Acolyte  he  shall  be  named,  in  place 
of  the  present  traitor ;  and  who  knows  what  may  come  thereafter  V’ 

“  May  it  please  your  Highness,^'  said  the  Varangian,  who  had  been 
hitherto  silent,  “  many  men  in  this  empire  rise  to  dignity  by  the  fall  of 
their  original  patrons,  but  it  is  a  road  to  greatness  to  which  I  cannot  recon¬ 
cile  my  conscience ;  moreover,  having  recovered  a  friend,  from  whom  I  was 
long  ago  separated,  I  shall  require,  in  short  space,  your  Imperial  license  for 
going  hence,  where  I  shall  leave  thousands  of  enemies  behind  me,  and 
spending  my  life,  like  many  of  my  countrymen,  under  the  banner  of  King 
William  of  Scotland’^ - 

“  Part  with  thee,  most  inimitable  man  cried  the  Emperor,  with  emphasis ; 
“where  shall  I  get  a  soldier — a  champion  —  a  friend — so  faithful?’^ 

“  Noble  sir,^^  replied  the  Anglo-Saxon,  “  I  am  every  way  sensible  to  your 
goodness  and  munificence ;  but  let  me  entreat  you  to  call  me  by  my  own 
name,  and  to  promise  me  nothing  but  your  forgiveness,  for  my  having  been 
the  agent  of  such  confusion  among  your  Imperial  servants.  Not  only  is 
the  threatened  fate  of  Achilles  Tatius,  my  benefactor ;  of  the  Cassar,  whom 
I  think  my  well-wisher ;  and  even  of  Agelastes  himself,  painful,  so  far  as  it 
is  of  my  bringing  round ;  but  also  I  have  known  it  somehow  happen,  that 
those  on  whom  your  Imperial  Majesty  has  lavished  the  most  valuable  ex¬ 
pressions  of  your  favour  one  day,  were  the  next  day  food  to  fatten  the  chough 
and  crow.  And  this,  I  acknowledge,  is  a  purpose,  for  which  I  would  not 
willingly  have  it  said  I  had  brought  my  English  limbs  to  these  Grecian 
shores.^^ 

“  Call  thee  by  thine  own  name,  my  Edward,^^  said  the  Emperor,  (while  he 
muttered  aside — “by  Heaven,  I  have  again  forgot  the  name  of  the  barba¬ 
rian  —  “by  thine  own  name  certainly  for  the  present,  but  only  until  we 
shall  devise  one  more  fitted  for  the  trust  we  repose  in  thee.  Meantime,  look 
at  this  scroll,  which  contains,  I  think,  all  the  particulars  which  we  have 
been  able  to  learn  of  this  plot,  and  give  it  to  these  unbelieving  women,  who 
will  not  credit  that  an  Emperor  is  in  danger,  till  the  blades  of  the  conspi¬ 
rators'  poniards  are  clashing  within  his  ribs." 

Hereward  did  as  he  was  commanded,  and  having  looked  at  the  scroll,  and 
signified,  by  bending  his  head,  his  acquiescence  in  its  contents,  he  presented 
it  to  Irene,  who  had  not  read  long,  ere,  with  a  countenance  so  embittered 
that  she  had  difficulty  in  pointing  out  the  cause  of  her  displeasure  to  her 
daughter,  she  bade  her,  with  animation,  “Read  that  —  read  that,  and  judge 
of  the  gratitude  and  affection  of  thy  Csesar !" 

The  Princess  Anna  Comnena  awoke  from  a  state  of  profound  and  over¬ 
powering  melancholy,  and  looked  at  the  passage  pointed  out  to  her,  at  first 
with  an  air  of  languid  curiosity,  which  presently  deepened  into  the  most 
intense  interest.  She  clutched  the  scroll  as  a  falcon  does  his  prey,  her  eye 
lightened  with  indignation  ;  and  it  was  with  the  cry  of  the  bird  when  m 
fury  that  she  exclaimed,  “  Bloody-minded,  double-hearted  traitor !  what 
wouldst  thou  have?  Yes,  father,"  she  said,  rising  in  fury,  “  it  is  no  longer 
the  voice  of  a  deceived  princess  that  shall  intercede  to  avert  from  the  traitor 
Nicephorus  the  doom  he  has  deserved !  Did  he  think  that  one  born  in  the 
purple  chamber  could  be  divorced  —  murdered,  perhaps  —  with  the  petty 
formula  of  the  Romans,  ‘  Restore  the  keys  —  be  no  longer  my  domestic 
drudge?'*  Was  a  daughter  of  the  blood  of  Comnenus  liable  to  such  insults 
as  the  meanest  of  Quirites  might  bestow  on  a  family  housekeeper !" 

So  saying,  she  dashed  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  her  countenance, 
naturally  that  of  beauty  and  gentleness,  became  animated  with  the  ex- 


*Tlie  laconic  form  of  the  Roman  divorce. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


175 


pression  of  a  fury.  Ilercward  looked  at  her  with  a  mixture  of  fear,  dislike 
and  compassion.  She  again  burst  forth,  for  nature  having  given  her  con¬ 
siderable  abilities,  had  lent  her  at  the  same  time  an  energy  of  passion,  far 
superior  in  power  to  the  cold  ambition  of  Irene,  or  the  wily,  ambidexter, 
shuffling  policy  of  the  Emperor. 

“  He  shall  abye  it,^'  said  the  Princess  ;  “  he  shall  dearly  abye  it !  False, 
smiling,  cozening  traitor! — and  for  that  unfeminine  barbarian  !  Something 
of  this  I  guessed,  even  at  that  old  fooFs  banqueting-house ;  and  yet  if  this 
unworthy  Ca;sar  submits  his  body  to  the  chance  of  arms,  he  is  less  prudent 
than  I  have  some  reason  to  believe.  Think  you  he  will  have  the  madness 
to  brand  us  with  such  open  neglect,  my  father  ?  and  will  you  not  invent 
some  mode  of  ensuring  our  revenge?’^ 

“  Soh  1^^  thought  the  Emperor,  “  this  difficulty  is  over ;  she  will  run  down 
hill  to  her  revenge,  and  wdll  need  the  snaffle  and  curb  more  than  the  lash. 
If  every  jealous  dame  in  Constantinople  were  to  pursue  her  fury  as  unre¬ 
lentingly,  our  laws  should  be  w'ritten,  like  Draco’s,  not  in  ink,  but  in  blood. 
—  Attend  to  me  now,”  he  said  aloud,  “  my  wife,  my  daughter,  and  thou, 
dear  Edward,  and  you  shall  learn,  and  you  three  only,  my  mode  of  navi¬ 
gating  the  vessel  of  the  state  through  these  shoals.” 

“  Let  us  see  distinctly,”  continued  Alexius,  “  the  means  by  which  they 
propose  to  act,  and  these  shall  instruct  us  how  to  meet  them.  A  certain 
number  of  the  Varangians  are  unhappily  seduced,  under  pretence  of 
wrongs,  artfully  stirred  up  by  their  villanous  general.  A  part  of  them  are 
-  studiously  to  be  arranged  nigh  our  person — the  traitor  Ursel,  some  of  them 
suppose,  is  dead,  but  if  it  were  so,  his  name  is  sufficient  to  draw  together 
his  old  factionaries  —  I  have  a  means  of  satisfying  them  on  that  point,  on 
which  I  shall  remain  silent  for  the  present.  —  A  considerable  body  of  the 
Immortal  Guards  have  also  given  w^ay  to  seduction  ;  they  are  to  be  placed 
to  support  the  handful  of  treacherous  Varangians,  who  are  in  the  plot  to 
attack  our  person.  —  Now,  a  slight  change  in  the  stations  of  the  soldiery, 
which  thou,  my  faithful  Edward — or — a — a — whatever  thou  art  named, — 
for  which  thou,  I  say,  shalt  have  full  authority,  will  derange  the  plans  of 
the  traitors,  and  place  the  true  men  in  such  position  around  them  as  to  cut 
them  to  pieces  with  little  trouble.” 

“  And  the  combat,  my  lord  ?”  said  the  Saxon. 

“  Thou  hadst  been  no  true  Varangian  hadst  thou  not  enquired  after  that,” 
said  the  Emperor,  nodding  good-humouredly  towards  him.  “  As  to  the 
combat,  the  Ca3sar  has  devised  it,  and  it  shall  be  my  care  that  he  shall  not 
retreat  from  the  dangerous  part  of  it.  lie  cannot  in  honour  avoid  fighting 
with  this  woman,  strange  as  the  combat  is ;  and  however  it  ends,  the  con¬ 
spiracy  will  break  forth,  and  as  assuredly  as  it  comes  against  persons  pre¬ 
pared,  and  in  arms,  shall  it  be  stifled  in  the  blood  of  the  conspirators!” 

“  My  revenge  does  not  require  this,”  said  the  Princess  ;  “  and  your  Impe¬ 
rial  honour  is  also  interested  that  this  Countess  shall  be  protected.” 

”  It  is  little  business  of  mine,”  said  the  Emperor.  “  She  comes  here 
with  her  husband  altogether  uninvited.  He  behaves  with  insolence  in  my 
presence,  and  deserves  vrhatever  may  be  the  issue  to  himself  or  his  lady 
of  their  mad  adventure.  In  sooth,  I  desired  little  more  than  to  give  him  a 
fright  with  those  animals  whom  their  ignorance  judged  enchanted,  and  to 
give  his  wife  a  slight  alarm  about  the  impetuosity  of  a  Grecian  lover,  and 
there  my  vengeance  should  have  ended.  But  it  may  be  that  his  wife  may 
be  taken  under  my  protection,  now  that  little  revenge  is  over.” 

“  And  a  paltry  revenge  it  was,”  said  the  Empress,  “  that  you,  a  man  past 
middle  life,  and  with  a  wife  who  might  command  some  attention,  should 
constitute  yourself  the  object  of  alarm  to  such  a  handsome  man  as  Count 
llobert,  and  the  Amazon  his  wife.” 

“  By  your  favour,  dame  Irene,  no,”  said  the  Emperor.  “  I  left  that  part 
of  the  proposed  comedy  to  my  son-in-law  the  Caesar.” 


176 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


But  when  the  poor  Emperor  had  in  some  measure  stopt  one  floodgate,  he 
efi’ectually  opened  another,  and  one  which  was  more  formidable.  “  The 
more  shame  to  your  Imperial  wisdom,  my  father  exclaimed  the  Princess 
Anna  Comnena ;  “  it  is  a  shame,  that  with  wisdom  and  a  beard  like  yours, 
you  should  be  meddling  in  such  indecent  follies  as  admit  disturbance  into 
private  families,  and  that  family  your  own  daughter’s !  Who  can  say  that 
the  Caesar  Nicephorus  Briennius  ever  looked  astray  towards  another  woman 
than  his  wife,  till  the  Emperor  taught  him  to  do  so,  and  involved  him  in  a 
web  of  intrigue  and  treachery,  in  which  he  has  endangered  the  life  of  his 
father-in-law  ?” 

“Daughter!  daughter!  daughter!” — said  the  Empress  ;  “daughter  of  a 
she-wolf,  I  think,  to  goad  her  parent  at  such  an  unhappy  time,  when  all  the 
leisure  he  has  is  too  little  to  defend  his  life !” 

“  Peace,  I  pray  you,  women  both,  with  your  senseless  clamours,”  an¬ 
swered  Alexius,  “and  let  me  at  least  swim  for  my  life  undisturbed  with 
your  folly.  God  knows  if  I  am  a  man  to  encourage,  I  will  not  say  the  real¬ 
ity  of  wrong,  but  even  its  mere  appearance  !” 

These  words  he  uttered,  crossing  himself,  with  a  devout  groan.  Ilis  wife 
Irene,  in  the  meantime,  stept  before  him,  and  said,  with  a  bitterness  in  her 
looks  and  accent,  which  only  long-concealed  nuptial  hatred  breaking  forth 
at  once  could  convey,  —  “Alexius,  terminate  this  affair  how  it  will,  you 
have  lived  a  hypocrite,  and  thou  wilt  not  fail  to  die  one.”  So  saying,  with 
an  air  of  noble  indignation,  and  carrying  her  daughter  along  with  her,  she 
swept  out  of  the  apartment. 

The  Emperor  looked  after  her  in  some  confusion.  He  soon,  however,  re¬ 
covered  his  self-possession,  and  turning  to  Ilereward,  with  a  look  of  injured 
majesty,  said,  “Ah!  my  dear  Edward,”  —  for  the  word  had  become  rooted 
in  his  mind,  instead  of  the  less  euphonic  name  of  Ilereward, — “thou  seest 
how  it  is  even  with  the  greatest,  and  that  the  Emperor,  in  moments  of  dif¬ 
ficulty,  is  a  subject  of  misconstruction,  as  well  as  the  meanest  burgess  of 
Constantinople ;  nevertheless,  my  trust  is  so  great  in  thee,  Edward,  that  I 
would  have  thee  believe,  that  my  daughter,  Anna  Comnena,  is  not  of  the 
temper  of  her  mother,  but  rather  of  my  own  ;  honouring,  thou  mayst  see, 
with  religious  fidelity,  the  unworthy  ties  which  I  hope  soon  to  break,  and 
assort  her  with  other  fetters  of  Cupid,  which  shall  be  borne  more  lightly. 
Edward,  my  main  trust  is  in  thee.  Accident  presents  us  with  an  oppor¬ 
tunity,  happy  of  the  happiest,  so  it  be  rightly  improved,  of  having  all  the 
traitors  before  us  assembled  on  one  fair  field.  Think,  then,  on  that  day,  as 
the  Franks  say  at  their  tournaments,  that  fair  eyes  behold  thee.  Thou  canst 
not  devise  a  gift  within  my  power,  but  I  will  gladly  load  thee  with  it.” 

“  It  needs  not,”  said  the  .Varangian,  somewhat  coldly  ;  “  my  highest  am¬ 
bition  is  to  merit  the  epitaph  upon  my  tomb,  ‘  Ilereward  was  faithful.’  I 
am  about,  however,  to  demand  a  proof  of  your  imperial  confidence,  which, 
perhaps,  you  may  think  a  startling  one.” 

“  Indeed  !”  said  the  Emperor.  “  What,  in  one  word,  is  thy  demand  ?” 

“Permission,”  replied  Ilereward,  “to  go  to  the  Duke  of  Bouillon’s  en¬ 
campment,  and  entreat  his  presence  in  the  lists,  to  witness  this  extraordi¬ 
nary  combat.” 

“  That  he  may  return  with  his  crusading  madmen,”  said  the  Emperor, 
“and  sack  Constantinople,  under  pretence  of  doing  justice  to  his  Confede¬ 
rates?  This,  Varangian,  is  at  least  speaking  thy  mind  openly.” 

“  No,  by  Heavens !”  said  Ilereward  suddenly  ;  “  the  Duke  of  Bouillon 
shall  come  with  no  more  knights  than  may  be  a  reasonable  guard,  should 
treachery  be  offered  to  the  Countess  of  Paris.” 

“Well,  even  in  this,”  said  the  Emperor,  “will  I  be  conformable;  and  if 
thou,  Edward,  betrayest  my  trust,  think  that  thou  forfeitest  all  that  my 
friendship  has  promised,  and  dost  incur,  besides,  the  damnation  that  is  due 
to  the  traitor  who  betrays  with  a  kiss.” 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


177 


“For  thy  reward,  noble  sir,’’  answered  the  Varangian,  “I  hereby  re¬ 
nounce  all  claim  to  it.  When  the  diadem  is  once  more  firmly  fixed  upon 
thy  brow,  and  the  sceptre  in  thy  hand,  if  I  am  then  alive,  if  my  poor  ser¬ 
vices  should  deserve  so  much,  I  will  petition  thee  for  the  means  of  leaving 
this  court,  and  returning  to  the  distant  island  in  which  I  was  born.  Mean¬ 
while,  think  me  not  unfaithful,  because  I  have  for  a  time  the  means  of  being 
so  with  effect.  Your  Imperial  Highness  shall  learn  that  Ilereward  is  as  true 
as  is  your  right  hand  to  your  left.”  —  So  saying,  he  took  his  leave  with  a 
profound  obeisance. 

The  Emperor  gazed  after  him  with  a  countenance  in  which  doubt  was 
mingled  with  admiration. 

“.I  have  trusted  him,”  he  said,  “with  all  he  asked,  and  with  the  power 
of  ruining  me  entirely,  if  such  be  his  purpose.  He  has  but  to  breathe  a 
whisper,  and  the  whole  mad  crew  of  crusaders,  kept  in  humour  at  the  ex¬ 
pense  of  so  much  current  falsehood,  and  so  much  more  gold,  will  return 
W’ith  fire  and  sword  to  burn  down  Constantinople,  and  sow  with  salt  the 
place  where  it  stood.  I  have  done  what  I  had  resolved  never  to  do, — I  have 
ventured  kingdom  and  life  on  the  faith  of  a  man  born  of  woman.  IIow 
often  have  I  said,  nay,  sworn,  that  I  would  not  hazard  myself  on  such 
peril,  and  yet,  step  by  step,  I  have  done  so !  I  cannot  tell — there  is  in  that 
man’s  looks  and  words  a  good  faith  which  overwhelms  me ;  and,  what  is 
almost  incredible,  my  belief  in  him  has  increased  in  proportion  to  his  show¬ 
ing  me  how  slight  my  power  was  over  him.  I  threw,  like  the  wily  angler, 
every  bait  I  could  devise,  and  some  of  them  such  as  a  king  would  scarcely 
have  disdained ;  to  none  of  these  would  he  rise ;  but  yet  he  gorges,  I  may 
say,  the  bare  hook,  and  enters  upon  my  service  without  a  shadow  of  self- 
interest.  —  Can  this  be  double-distilled  treachery  ?  —  or  can  it  be  what  men 
call  disinterestedness? — If  I  thought  him  false,  the  moment  is  not  yet  past 
—  he  has  not  yet  crossed  the  bridge  —  he  has  not  passed  the  guards  of  the 
palace,  who  have  no  hesitation,  and  know  no  disobedience — But  no — I  were 
then  alone  in  the  land,  and  without  a  friend  or  confidant. — I  hear  the  sound 
of  the  outer  gate  unclose,  the  sense  of  danger  certainly  renders  my  ears 
more  acute  than  usual. — It  shuts  again — the  die  is  cast.  He  is  at  liberty — 
and  Alexius  Comnenus  must  stand  or  fall,  according  to  the  uncertain  faith 
of  a  mercenary  Varangian.”  He  clapt  his  hands ;  a  slave  appeared,  of 
whom  he  demanded  wine.  He  drank,  and  his  heart  was  cheered  within 
him.  “  I  am  decided,”  he  said,  “  and  will  abide  with  resolution  the  cast 
of  the  throw,  for  good  or  for  evil.” 

So  saying,  he  retired  to  his  apartment,  and  was  not  again  seen  during 
that  night. 


(Cliapttr  tilt  '(Eratnlq-lttanli. 

And  aye,  as  if  for  death,  some  lonely  trumpet  peal’d. 

Campbell. 

Tue  Varangian,  his  head  agitated  with  the  weighty  matters  which  were 
imposed  on  him,  stopt  from  time  to  time  as  he  journeyed  through  the  moon¬ 
light  streets,  to  arrest  passing  ideas  as  they  shot  through  his  mind,  and 
consider  them  with  accuracy  in  all  their  bearings.  His  thoughts  were  such 
as  animated  or  alarmed  him  alternately,  each  followed  by  a  confused  throng 
of  accompaniments  which  it  suggested,  and  banished  again  in  its  turn  by 
VoL.  XU.— 12 


178 


AVAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


reflections  of  another  description.  It  was  one  of  those  conjunctures  when 
tiie  minds  of  ordinary  men  feel  themselves  unable  to  support  a  burden  which 
is  suddenly  Hung  upon  them,  and  when,  on  the  contrary,  those  of  uncommon 
fortitude,  and  that  best  of  Heaven’s  gifts,  good  sense,  founded  on  presence 
of  mind,  feel  their  talents  awakened  and  regulated  for  the  occasion,  like  a 
good  steed  under  the  management  of  a  rider  of  courage  and  experience. 

As  he  stood  in  one  of  those  fits  of  reverie,  which  repeatedly  during  that 
night  arrested  his  stern  military  march,  Hereward  thought  that  his  ear 
caught  the  note  of  a  distant  trumpet.  This  surprised  him ;  a  trumpet 
blown  at  that  late  hour,  and  in  the  streets  of  Constantinople,  argued  some¬ 
thing  extraordinary;  for  as  all  military  movements  were  the  subject  of 
special  ordinance,  the  etiquette  of  the  night  could  hardly  have  been  trans¬ 
gressed  without  some  great  cause.  The  question  was,  what  that  cause 
could  be  ? 

Had  the  insurrection  broken  out  unexpectedly,  and  in  a  different  manner 
from  what  the  conspirators  proposed  to  themselves?  —  If  so,  his  meeting 
with  his  plighted  bride,  after  so  many  years’  absence,  was  but  a  delusive 
preface  to  their  separating  for  ever.  Or  had  the  crusaders,  a  race  of  men 
upon  whose  motions  it  was  difficult  to  calculate,  suddenly  taken  arms  and 
returned  from  the  opposite  shore  to  surprise  the  city  ?  This  might  very 
possibly  be  the  case  ;  so  numerous  had  been  the  different  causes  of  com¬ 
plaint  afforded  to  the  crusaders,  that,  when  they  were  now  for  the  first  time 
assembled  into  one  body,  and  had  heard  the  stories  which  they  could 
reciprocally  tell  concerning  the  perfidy  of  the  Greeks,  nothing  was  so  likely, 
so  natural,  even  perhaps  so  justifiable,  as  that  they  should  study  revenge. 

But  the  sound  rather  resembled  a  point  of  war  regularly  blown,  than  the 
tumultuous  blare  of  bugle-horns  and  trumpets,  the  accompaniments  at  once, 
and  the  annunciation,  of  a  taken  town,  in  which  the  horrid  circumstances 
of  storm  had  not  yet  given  place  to  such  stern  peace  as  the  victors’  weari¬ 
ness  of  slaughter  and  rapine  allows  at  length  to  the  wretched  inhabitants. 
Whatever  it  was,  it  wa,s  necessary  that  Hereward  should  learn  its  purport, 
and  therefore  he  made  his  way  into  a  broad  street  near  the  barracks,  from 
which  the  sound  seemed  to  come,  to  which  point,  indeed,  his  way  was 
directed  for  other  reasons. 

The  inhabitants  of  that  quarter  of  the  town  did  not  appear  violently 
startled  by  this  military  signal.  The  moonlight  slept  on  the  street,  crossed 
by  the  gigantic  shadowy  towers  of  Sancta  Sophia.  No  human  being 
appeared  in  the  streets,  and  such  as  for  an  instant  looked  from  their  doors 
or  from  their  lattices,  seemed  to  have  their  curiosity  quickly  satisfied,  for 
they  withdrew  their  heads,  and  secured  the  opening  through  which  they 
had  peeped. 

Hereward  could  not  help  remembering  the  traditions  which  were  recounted 
by  the  fathers  of  his  tribe,  in  the  deep  woods  of  Hampshire,  and  which 
spoke  of  invisible  huntsmen,  who  were  heard  to  follow  with  viewless  horses 
and  hounds  the  unseen  chase  through  the  depths  of  the  forests  of  Germany. 
Such  it  seemed  were  the  sounds  with  which  these  haunted  woods  were  wont 
to  ring  while  the  wild  chase  was  up ;  and  with  such  apparent  terror  did  the 
hearers  listen  to  their  clamour. 

“  Fie !”  he  said,  as  he  suppressed  within  him  a  tendency  to  the  same 
superstitious  fears ;  “  do  such  childish  fancies  belong  to  a  man  trusted  with 
so  much,  and  from  whom  so  much  is  expected  ?”  He  paced  down  the  street, 
therefore,  with  his  battle-axe  over  his  shoulder,  and  the  first  person  whom 
he  saw  venturing  to  look  out  of  his  door,  he  questioned  concerning  the 
cause  of  this  military  music  at  such  an  unaccustomed  hour. 

“  I  cannot  tell,  so  please  you,  1113^  lord,”  said  the  citizen,  unwilling,  it 
appeared,  to  remain  in  the  open  air,  or  to  enter  into  conversation,  and 
greatly  disposed  to  decline  further  questioning.  This  was  the  political 
citizen  of  Constantinople,  whom  we  met  with  at  the  beginning  of  this 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS.  179 

history,  and  who,  hastily  stopping  into  his  habitation,  eschewed  all  further 
conversation. 

The  wrestler  Stephanos  showed  himself  at  the  next  door,  which  was  gar¬ 
landed  with  oak  and  ivy  leaves,  in  honour  of  some  recent  victory.  He  stood 
unshrinking,  partly  encouraged  by  the  consciousness  of  personal  strength, 
and  partly  by  a  rugged  surliness  of  temper,  which  is  often  mistaken  among 
persons  of  this  kind  for  real  courage.  Ilis  admirer  and  flatterer,  Lysi- 
machus,  kept  himself  ensconced  behind  his  ample  shoulders. 

As  llereward  passed,  he  put  the  same  question  as  he  did  to  the  former 
citizen, — “Know  you  the  meaning  of  these  trumpets  sounding  so  late?^' 

“  You  should  know  best  yourself,'^  answered  Stephanos,  doggedl}" ;  “  for, 
to  judge  by  your  axe  and  helmet,  they  are  your  trumpets,  and  not  ours, 
which  disturb  honest  men  in  their  first  sleep.'^ 

“  Varlet!’’  answered  the  Varangian,  with  an  emphasis  which  made  the 
prizer  start,  —  “  but  —  when  that  trumpet  sounds,  it  is  no  time  for  a  soldier 
to  punish  insolence  as  it  deserves.'^ 

The  Greek  started  back  and  bolted  into  his  house,  nearly  overthrowing 
in  the  speed  of  his  retreat  the  artist  Lysimachus,  who  was  listening  to  what 
passed. 

llereward  passed  on  to  the  barracks,  where  the  military  music  had  seemed 
to  halt;  but  on  the  Varangian  crossing  the  threshold  of  the  ample  court¬ 
yard,  it  broke  forth  again  with  a  tremendous  burst,  whose  clangour  almost 
stunned  him,  though  well  accustomed  to  the  sounds.  “  What  is  the  meaning 
of  this,  Engelbrecht?^’  he  said  to  the  Varangian  sentinel,  who  paced  axe  in 
hand  before  the  entrance. 

“  The  proclamation  of  a  challenge  and  combat,'^  answered  Engelbrecht. 
“  Strange  things  towards,  comrade ;  the  frantic  crusaders  have  bit  the 
Grecians,  and  infected  them  with  their  humour  of  tilting,  as  they  say  dogs 
do  each  other  with  madness.’’ 

llereward  made  no  reply  to  the  sentinel’s  speech,  but  pressed  forward 
into  a  knot  of  his  fellow-soldiers  who  were  assembled  in  the  court,  half¬ 
armed,  or,  more  properly,  in  total  disarray,  as  just  arisen  from  their  beds, 
and  huddled  around  the  trumpets  of  their  corps,  which  were  drawn  out  in 
full  pomp.  Ho  of  the  gigantic  instrument,  whose  duty  it  was  to  intimate 
the  express  commands  of  the  Emperor,  was  not  wanting  in  his  place,  and 
the  musicians  were  supported  by  a  band  of  the  Varangians  in  arms,  headed 
by  Achilles  Tatius  himself.  llereward  could  also  notice,  on  approaching 
nearer,  as  his  comrades  made  way  for  him,  that  six  of  the  Imperial  heralds 
were  on  duty  on  this  occasion  ;  four  of  these  (two  acting  at  the  same  time) 
had  already  made  proclamation,  which  was  to  be  repeated  for  the  third 
time  by  the  two  last,  as  was  the  usual  fashion  in  Constantinople  with  Im¬ 
perial  mandates  of  great  consequence.  Achilles  Tatius,  the  moment  he 
saw  his  confidant,  made  him  a  sign,  which  llereward  understood  as  con¬ 
veying  a  desire  to  speak  with  him  after  the  proclamation  was  over.  The 
herald,  after  the  flourish  of  trumpets  was  finished,  commenced  in  these 
words : 

“  By  the  authority  of  the  resplendent  and  divine  Prince  Alexius  Com- 
nenus.  Emperor  of  the  most  holy  Roman  Empire,  his  Imperial  Majesty 
desires  it  to  be  made  known  to  all  and  sundry  the  subjects  of  his  empire, 
whatever  their  race  of  blood  may  be,  or  at  whatever  shrine  of  divinity  they 
happen  to  bend — Know  ye,  therefore,  that  upon  the  second  day  after  this  is 
dated,  our  beloved  son-in-law,  the  much  esteemed  Caesar,  hath  taken  upon 
him  to  do  battle  with  our  sworn  enemy,  Robert,  Count  of  Paris,  on  account 
of  his  insolent  conduct,  by  presuming  publicly  to  occupy  our  royal  seat,  and 
no  less  by  breaking,  in  our  Imperial  presence,  those  curious  specimens  of 
art,  ornamenting  our  throne,  called  by  tradition  the  Lions  of  Solomon.  And 
that  there  may  not  remain  a  man  in  Europe  who  shall  dare  to  say  that  the 
Grecians  are  behind  other  parts  of  the  world  in  any  of  the  manly  exercises 


180 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


which  Christian  nations  use,  the  said  noble  enemies,  renouncing  all  assist¬ 
ance  from  falsehood,  from  spells,  or  from  magic,  shall  debate  this  quarrel 
in  three  courses  with  grinded  spears,  and  three  passages  of  arms  with 
sharpened  swords;  the  field  to  be  at  the  judgment  of  the  honourable 
Emperor,  and  to  be  decided  at  his  most  gracious  and  unerring  pleasure. 
And  so  God  show  the  right  I” 

Another  formidable  flourish  of  the  trumpets  concluded  the  ceremony. 
Achilles  then  dismissed  the  attendant  troops,  as  well  as  the  heralds  and 
musicians,  to  their  respective  quarters ;  and  having  got  Ilereward  close  to 
his  side,  enquired  of  him  whether  he  had  learned  any  thing  of  the  prisoner, 
Robert,  Count  of  Paris. 

“Nothing,’^  said  the  Varangian,  “save  the  tidings  your  proclamation 
contains.^^ 

“  You  think,  then,’^  said  Achilles,  “  that  the  Count  has  been  a  party  to  it.” 

“  He  ought  to  have  been  so,”  answered  the  Varangian.  “  I  know  no  one 
but  himself  entitled  to  take  burden  for  his  appearance  in  the  lists.” 

“  Why,  look  you,”  said  the  Acolyte,  “  my  most  excellent,  though  blunt- 
witted  Hereward,  this  Caesar  of  ours  hath  had  the  extravagance  to  venture 
his  tender  wit  in  comparison  to  that  of  Achilles  Tatius.  He  stands  upon 
his  honour,  too,  this  ineffable  fool,  and  is  displeased  with  the  idea  of  being 
supposed  either  to  challenge  a  woman,  or  to  receive  a  challenge  at  her 
hand.  He  has  substituted,  therefore,  the  name  of  the  lord  instead  of  the 
lady.  If  the  Count  fail  to  appear,  the  Caesar  walks  forward  challenger  and 
successful  combatant  at  a  cheap  rate,  since  no  one  has  encountered  him, 
and  claims  that  the  lady  should  be  delivered  up  to  him  as  a  captive  of  his 
dreaded  bow  and  spear.  This  will  be  the  signal  for  a  general  tumult,  in 
which,  if  the  Emperor  be  not  slain  on  the  spot,  he  will  be  conveyed  to  the 
dungeon  of  his  own  Blacquernal,  there  to  endure  the  doom  which  his  cruelty 
has  inflicted  upon  so  many  others.” 

“But” — said  the  Varangian. 

“But  —  but  —  but,”  said  his  oflScer;  “  but  thou  art  a  fool.  Canst  thou 
not  see  that  this  gallant  Cmsar  is  willing  to  avoid  the  risk  of  encountering 
with  this  lady,  while  he  earnestly  desires  to  be  supposed  willing  to  meet 
her  husband?  It  is  our  business  to  fix  the  combat  in  such  a  shape  as  to 
bring  all  who  are  prepared  for  insurrection  together  in  arms  to  play  their 
parts.  Do  thou  only  see  that  our  trusty  friends  are  placed  near  to  the 
Emperor's  person,  and  in  such  a  manner  as  to  keep  from  him  the  officious 
and  meddling  portion  of  guards,  who  may  be  disposed  to  assist  him  ;  and 
whether  the  Caesar  fights  a  combat  with  lord  or  lady,  or  whether  there  be 
any  combat  at  all  or  not,  the  revolution  shall  be  accomplished,  and  the 
Tatii  shall  replace  the  Comneni  upon  the  Imperial  throne  of  Constantinople. 
Go,  my  trusty  Hereward.  Thou  wilt  not  forget  that  the  signal  word  of  the 
insurrection  is  Ursel,  who  lives  in  the  affections  of  the  people,  although  his 
body,  it  is  said,  has  long  lain  a  corpse  in  the  dungeons  of  the  Blacquer¬ 
nal.” 

“  What  was  this  Ursel,”  said  Ilereward,  “  of  whom  I  hear  men  talk  so 
variously  ?” 

“  A  competitor  for  the  crown  with  Alexius  Comnenus — good,  brave,  and 
honest ;  but  overpowered  by  the  cunning,  rather  than  the  skill  or  bravery 
of  his  foe.  He  died,  as  I  believe,  in  the  Blacquernal ;  though  when,  or 
how,  there  are  few  that  can  say.  .  But,  up  and  be  doing,  my  Hereward ! 
Speak  encouragement  to  the  Varangians — Interest  whomsoever  thou  canst 
to  join  us.  Of  the  Immortals,  as  they  are  called,  and  of  the  discontented 
citizens,  enough  are  prepared  to  fill  up  the  cry,  and  follow  in  the  wake  of 
those  on  whom  we  must  rely  as  the  beginners  of  the  enterprise.  No  longer 
shall  Alexius's  cunning,  in  avoiding  popular  assemblies,  avail  to  protect 
him ;  he  cannot,  with  regard  to  his  honour,  avoid  being  present  at  a  combat 
to  be  fought  beneath  his  own  eye;  and  Mercury  be  praised  for  the  elo- 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS.  181 

qucncc  •which  inspired  him,  after  some  hesitation,  to  determine  for  tho 
proclamation 

“  You  have  seen  him,  then,  this  evening?”  said  the  Varangian. 

“Seen  him!  Unquestionably,”  answered  the  Acolyte.  “  Had  I  ordered 
these  trumpets  to  be  sounded  without  his  knowledge,  the  blast  had  blown 
the  head  from  my  shoulders.” 

“  I  had  wellnigh  met  you  at  the  palace,”  said  Ilereward ;  while  his  heart 
throbbed  almost  as  high  as  if  he  had  actually  had  such  a  dangerous 
encounter. 

“  I  heard  something  of  it,”  said  Achilles ;  “  that  you  came  to  take  the 
parting  orders  of  him  who  now  acts  the  sovereign.  Surely,  had  I  seen  you 
there,  with  that  steadfast,  open,  seemingly  honest  countenance,  cheating  the 
wily  Greek  by  very  dint  of  bluntness,  1  had  not  forborne  laughing  at  the 
contrast  between  that  and  the  thoughts  of  thy  heart.” 

“God  alone,”  said  Ilereward,  “knows  the  thoughts  of  our  hearts;  but  I 
take  him  to  witness,  that  I  am  faithful  to  my  promise,  and  will  discharge 
the  task  intrusted  to  me.” 

“  Bravo  I  mine  honest  Anglo-Saxon,”  said  Achilles.  “  I  pray  thee  to 
call  my  slaves  to  unarm  me  ;  and  when  thou  thyself  doffest  those  weapons 
of  an  ordinary  lifeguard’s-man,  tell  them  they  never  shall  above  twice  more 
enclose  the  limbs  of  one  for  whom  fate  has  much  more  fitting  garments  in 
store.” 

Ilereward  dared  not  intrust  his  voice  with  an  answer  to  so  critical  a 
speech ;  he  bowed  profoundly,  and  retired  to  his  own  quarters  in  the 
building. 

Upon  entering  the  apartment,  he  was  immediately  saluted  by  the  voice 
of  Count  Robert,  in  joyful  accents,  not  suppressed  by  the  fear  of  making 
himself  heard,  though  prudence  should  have  made  that  uppermost  in  his 
mind. 

“Hast  thou  heard  it,  my  dear  Ilereward,”  he  said  —  “hast  thou  heard 
the  proclamation,  by  which  this  Greek  antelope  hath  defied  me  to  tilting 
with  grinded  spears,  and  fighting  three  passages  of  arms  with  sharpened 
swords?  Yet  there  is  something  strange,  too,  that  he  should  not  think  it 
safer  to  hold  my  lady  to  the  encounter !  He  may  think,  perhaps,  that  the 
crusaders  would  not  permit  such  a  battle  to  be  fought.  But,  by  our  Lady 
of  the  Broken  Lances  I  he  little  knows  that  the  men  of  the  West  hold  their 
ladies’  character  for  courage  as  jealously  as  they  do  their  own.  This  whole 
night  have  I  been  considering  in  what  armour  I  shall  clothe  me ;  what  shift 
I  shall  make  for  a  steed ;  and  whether  I  shall  not  honour  him  sufficiently 
by  using  Tranchefer,  as  my  only  weapon,  against  his  whole  armour,  ofiensive 
and  defensive.” 

“I  shall  take  care,  however,”  said  Ilereward,  “that  thou  art  better  pro¬ 
vided  in  case  of  need.  —  Thou  knowest  not  the  Greeks.” 


(ClinptBr  t|it  €ititnti]-®j)itti. 

The  Varangian  did  not  leave  the  Count  of  Paris  until  the  latter  had 
placed  in  his  hands  his  signet-ring,  semee,  (as  the  heralds  express  it,)  with 
lances  splintered,  and  bearing  the  proud  motto,  “  Mine  yet  unscathed.” 
Provided  with  this  symbol  of  confidence,  it  was  now  his  business  to  take 
order  for  communicating  the  approaching  solemnity  to  the  leader  of  the 
crusading  army,  and  demanding  L’om  him,  in  the  name  of  Robert  of  Paris, 
and  the  Lady  Brenhilda,  such  a  detachment  of  western  cavaliers  as  might 

U 


182 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


ensure  strict  observance  of  honour  and  honesty  in  the  arrangement  of  the 
lists,  and  during  the  progress  of  the  combat.  The  duties  imposed  on 
llereward  were  such  as  to  render  it  impossible  for  him  to  proceed  personally 
to  the  camp  of  Godfrey;  and  though  there  were  many  of  the  Varangians 
in  whose  fidelity  he  could  have  trusted,  he  knew  of  none  among  those 
under  his  immediate  command  whose  intelligence,  on  so  novel  an  occasion, 
might  be  entirely  depended  on.  In  this  perplexity,  he  strolled,  perhaps 
without  well  knowing  why,  to  the  gardens  of  Agelastes,  where  fortune  once 
more  produced  him  an  interview  with  Bertha. 

No  sooner  had  llereward  made  her  aware  of  his  difficulty,  than  the  faithful 
bower-maiden’s  resolution  was  taken. 

“  I  see,”  said  she,  “  that  the  peril  of  this  part  of  the  adventure  must  rest 
with  me;  and  wherefore  should  it  not?  My  mistress,  in  the  bosom  of 
prosperity,  offered  herself  to  go  forth  into  the  wide  world  for  my  sake ;  I 
Avill  for  hers  go  to  the  camp  of  this  Frankish  lord.  He  is  an  honourable 
man,  and  a  pious  Christian,  and  his  followers  are  faithful  pilgrims.  A 
woman  can  have  nothing  to  fear  who  goes  to  such  men  upon  such  an 
errand.” 

The  Varangian,  however,  was  too  well  acquainted  with  the  manners  of 
camps  to  permit  the  fair  Bertha  to  go  alone.  He  provided,  therefore,  for 
•  her  safe-guard  a  trusty  old  soldier,  bound  to  his  person  by  long  kindness 
and  confidence,  and  having  thoroughly  possessed  her  of  the  particulars  of 
the  message  she  was  to  deliver,  and  desired  her  to  be  in  readiness  without 
the  enclosure  at  peep  of  daAvn,  returned  once  more  to  his  barracks. 

With  the  earliest  light,  llereward  was  again  at  the  spot  where  he  had 
parted  overnight  with  Bertha,  accompanied  by  the  honest  soldier  to  whose 
care  he  meant  to  confide  her.  In  a  short  time,  he  had  seen  them  safely  on 
board  of  a  ferry-boat  lying  in  the  harbour ;  the  master  of  which  readily 
admitted  them,  after  some  examination  of  their  license,  to  pass  to  Scutari, 
which  was  forged  in  the  name  of  the  Acolyte,  as  authorised  by  that  foul 
conspirator,  and  which  agreed  with  the  appearance  of  old  Osmund  and  his 
young  charge. 

The  morning  Avas  lovely ;  and  erelong  the  toAvn  of  Scutari  opened  on  the 
view  of  the  travellers,  glittering,  as  now,  with  a  variety  of  architecture, 
which,  though  it  might  be  termed  fantastical,  could  not  be  denied  the  praise 
of  beauty.  These  buildings  rose  boldly  out  of  a  thick  grove  of  cypresses, 
and  other  huge  trees,  the  larger,  probably,  as  they  Avere  respected  for  filling 
the  cemeteries,  and  being  the  guardians  of  the  dead. 

At  the  period  we  mention,  another  circumstance,  no  less  striking  than 
beautiful,  rendered  doubly  interesting  a  scene  which  must  have  been  at  all 
times  greatly  so.  A  large  portion  of  that  miscellaneous  army  Avhich  came 
to  regain  the  holy  places  of  Palestine,  and  the  blessed  Sepulchre  itself, 
from  the  infidels,  had  established  themselves  in  a  camp  within  a  mile,  or 
thereabouts,  of  Scutari,  xilthough,  therefore,  the  crusaders  Avere  destitute 
in  a  great  measure  of  the  use  of  tents,  the  army  (excepting  the  pavilions  of 
some  leaders  of  high  rank)  had  constructed  for  themselves  temporary  huts, 
not  unpleasing  to  the  eye,  being  decorated  with  leaves  and  flowers,  while 
the  tall  pennons  and  banners  that  floated  over  them  with  various  devices, 
showed  that  the  flower  of  Europe  Avere  assembled  at  that  place.  A  loud 
and  varied  murmur,  resembling  that  of  a  thronged  hive,  floated  from  the 
camp  of  the  crusaders  to  the  neighbouring  town  of  Scutari,  and  every  now 
and  then  the  deep  tone  was  broken  by  some  shriller  sound,  the  note  of  some 
musical  instrument,  or  the  treble  scream  of  some  child  or  female,  in  fear  or 
in  gaiety. 

The  party  at  length  landed  in  safety ;  and  as  they  approached  one  of  the 
gates  of  the  camp,  there  sallied  forth  a  brisk  array  of  gallant  cavaliers, 
pages,  and  squires,  exercising  their  masters’  horses  or  their  own.  From 
the  noise  they  made,  conversing  at  the  very  top  of  their  voices,  galloping, 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


183 


curvetting,  and  prancing  their  palfreys,  it  seemed  as  if  their  early  discipline 
had  called  them  to  exercise  ere  the  fumes  of  last  night’s  revel  vrero 
thoroughly  dissipated  by  repose.  So  soon  as  they  saw  Bertha  and  her 
party,  they  approached  them  with  cries  which  marked  their  country  was 
Italy — “  Al’erta  !  al’erta! — Roba  de  guadagno,  cameradi!”* 

They  gathered  round  the  Anglo-Saxon  maiden  and  her  companions,  re¬ 
peating  their  cries  in  a  manner  which  made  Bertha  tremble.  Their  general 
demand  was,  “  What  was  her  business  in  their  camp  ?” 

“  1  would  to  the  general-in-chief,  cavaliers,”  answered  Bertha,  “  having  a 
secret  message  to  his  ear.” 

“  For  whose  ear?”  said  a  leader  of  the  party,  a  handsome  youth  of  about 
eighteen  years  of  age,  who  seemed  either  to  have  a  sounder  brain  than  his 
fellows,  or  to  have  overflowed  it  with  less  wine.  “  Which  of  our  leaders  do 
you  come  hither  to  see  ?”  he  demanded. 

“  Godfrey  of  Bouillon.” 

“  Indeed !”  said  the  page  who  had  spoken  first ;  “  can  nothing  of  less 
consequence  serve  thy  turn  ?  Take  a  look  amongst  us  ;  young  are  we  all, 
and  reasonably  wealthy.  My  Lord  of  Bouillon  is  old,  and  if  he  has  any 
sequins,  he  is  not  like  to  lavish  them  in  this  way.” 

“  Still  I  have  a  token  to  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,”  answered  Bertha,  “  an 
assured  one  ;  and  he  will  little  thank  any  who  obstructs  my  free  passage  to 
him  ;”  and  therewithal  showing  a  little  case,  in  which  the  signet  of  the 
Count  of  Paris  was  enclosed,  “  1  will  trust  it  in  your  hands,”  she  said,  “  if 
you  promise  not  to  open  it,  but  to  give  me  free  access  to  the  noble  leader  of 
the  crusaders.” 

“  I  will,”  said  the  youth,  “  and  if  such  be  the  Duke’s  pleasure,  thou  shalt 
be  admitted  to  him.” 

“  Ernest  the  Apulian,  thy  dainty  Italian  wit  is  caught  in  a  trap,”  said 
one  of  his  companions. 

“  Thou  art  an  ultramontane  fool,  Polydore,”  returned  Ernest ;  “  there 
may  be  more  in  this  than  either  thy  wit  or  mine  is  able  to  fathom.  This 
maiden  and  one  of  her  attendants  wear  a  dress  belonging  to  the  Varangian 
Imperial  guard.  They  have  perhaps  been  intrusted  with  a  message  from 
the  Emperor,  and  it  is  not  irreconcilable  with  Alexius’s  politics  to  send  it 
through  such  messengers  as  these.  Let  us,  therefore,  convey  them  in  all 
honour  to  the  General’s  tent.” 

“  With  all  my  heart,”  said  Polydore.  “  A  blue-eyed  wench  is  a  pretty 
thing,  but  I  like  not  the  sauce  of  the  camp-marshal,  nor  his  taste  in  attiring 
men  who  gave  way  to  temptation. f  Yet,  ere  I  prove  a  fool  like  my  com¬ 
panion,  I  would  ask  who  or  what  this  pretty  maiden  is,  who  comes  to  put 
noble  princes  and  holy  pilgrims  in  mind  that  they  have  in  their  time  had 
the  follies  of  men  ?” 

Bertha  advanced  and  whispered  in  the  ear  of  Ernest.  Meantime  joke 
followed  jest,  among  Polydore  and  the  rest  of  the  gay  youths,  in  riotous 
and  ribald  succession,  which,  however  characteristic  of  the  rude  speakers, 
may  as  well  be  omitted  here.  Their  effect  was  to  shake  in  some  degree  the 
fortitude  of  the  Saxon  maiden,  who  had  some  difficulty  in  mustering  courage 
to  address  them.  “  As  you  have  mothers,  gentlemen,”  she  said,  “  as  you 
have  fair  sisters,  whom  you  would  protect  from  dishonour  with  your  best 
blood  —  as  you  love  and  honour  those  holy  places  which  you  are  sworn  to 
free  from  the  infidel  enemy,  have  compassion  on  me,  that  you  may  merit 
success  in  your  undertaking !” 

“Fear  nothing,  maiden,”  said  Ernest,  “I  will  be  your  protector;  and 
you,  my  comrades,  be  ruled  by  me.  I  have,  during  your  brawling,  taken 
a  view,  though  somewhat  against  my  promise,  of  the  pledge  which  she 

*  That  is — “  Take  heed  !  take  heed !  there  is  booty,  comrades !” 

t  Pereons  among:  the  Crusaders  found  guilty  of  certain  offences,  did  penance  in  a  drees  of  tar  and  feathers, 
though  it  is  supposed  a  punishment  of  modern  invention. 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


184 

bears,  and  if  she  who  presents  it  is  affronted  or  maltreated,  be  assured 
Godfrey  of  Bouillon  will  severely  avenge  the  wrong  done  her/^ 

“Nay,  comrade,  if  thou  canst  warrant  us  so  much,’^  said  Polydore,  “I 
will  myself  be  most  .anxious  to  conduct  the  young  woman  in  honour  and 
safety  to  Sir  Godfrey’s  tent.” 

“  The  Princes,”  said  Ernest,  “  must  be  nigh  meeting  there  in  council. 
What  I  have  said  I  will  warrant  and  uphold  with  hand  and  life.  More  I 
might  guess,  but  I  conclude  this  sensible  young  maiden  can  speak  for 
herself.” 

“  Now,  Heaven  bless  thee,  gallant  squire,”  said  Bertha,  “  and  make  thee 
alike  brave  and  fortunate !  Embarrass  yourself  no  farther  about  me,  than 
to  deliver  me  safe  to  your  leader,  Godfrey.” 

“  We  spend  time,”  said  Ernest,  springing  from  his  horse.  “You  are  no 
soft  Eastern,  fair  maid,  and  I  presume  you  will  find  yourself  under  no 
difficulty  in  managing  a  quiet  horse?” 

“Not  the  least,”  said  Bertha,  as,  wrapping  herself  in  her  cassock,  she 
sprung  from  the  ground,  and  alighted  upon  the  spirited  palfrey,  as  a  linnet 
stoops  upon  a  rose-bush.  “  And  now,  sir,  as  my  business  really  brooks  no 
delay,  I  will  be  indebted  to  you  to  show  me  instantly  to  the  tent  of  Duke 
Godfrey  of  Bouillon.” 

By  availing  herself  of  this  courtesy  of  the  young  Apulian,  Bertha  im¬ 
prudently  separated  herself  from  the  old  Varangian  ;  but  the  intentions  of 
the  youth  were  honourable,  and  he  conducted  her  through  the  tents  and 
huts  to  the  pavilion  of  the  celebrated  General-in-chief  of  the  Crusade. 

“Here,”  he  said,  “you  must  tarry  for  a  space,  under  the  guardianship 
of  my  companions,”  (for  two  or  three  of  the  pages  had  accompanied  them, 
out  of  curiosity  to  see  the  issue,)  “and  I  will  take  the  commands  of  the 
Duke  of  Bouillon  upon  the  subject.” 

To  this  nothing  could  be  objected,  and  Bertha  had  nothing  better  to  do, 
than  to  admire  the  outside  of  the  tent,  which,  in  one  of  Alexius’s  fits  of 
generosity  and  munificence,  had  been  presented  by  the  Greek  Emperor  to 
the  Chief  of  the  Franks.  It  was  raised  upon  tall  spear-shaped  poles,  which 
had  the  semblance  of  gold;  its  curtains  were  of  thick  stuff,  manufactured 
of  silk,  cotton,  and  gold  thread.  The  warders  who  stood  round,  were  (at 
least  during  the  time  that  the  council  was  held)  old  grave  men,  the  personal 
squires  of  the  body,  most  of  them,  of  the  sovereigns  who  had  taken  the  Cross, 
and  who  could,  therefore,  be  trusted  as  a  guard  over  the  assembly,  without 
danger  of  their  blabbing  what  they  might  overhear.  Their  appearance  was 
serious  and  considerate,  and  they  looked  like  men  who  had  taken  upon  them 
the  Cross,  not  as  an  idle  adventure  of  arms,  but  as  a  purpose  of  the  most 
solemn  and  serious  nature.  One  of  these  stopt  the  Italian,  and  demanded  what 
business  authorized  him  to  press  forward  into  the  council  of  the  crusaders, 
who  were  already  taking  their  seats.  The  page  answered  by  giving  his 
name,  “  Ernest  of  Otranto,  page  of  Prince  Tancred  and  stated  that  he 
announced  a  young  woman,  who  bore  a  token  to  the  Duke  of  Bouillon,  adding 
that  it  was  accompanied  by  a  message  for  his  own  ear. 

Bertha,  meantime,  laid  aside  her  mantle,  or  upper  garment,  and  disposed 
the  rest  of  her  dress  according  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  costume.  She  had  hardly 
completed  this  task,  before  the  page  of  Prince  Tancred  returned,  to  conduct 
her  into  the  presence  of  the  council  of  the  Crusade.  She  followed  his 
signal ;  while  the  other  young  men  who  had  accompanied  her,  wondering 
at  the  apparent  ease  with  which  she  gained  admittance,  drew  back  to  a  re¬ 
spectful  distance  from  the  tent,  and  there  canvassed  the  singularity  of  their 
morning’s  adventure. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  ambassadress  herself  entered  the  council  chamber, 
exhibiting  an  agreeable  mixture  of  shamefacedness  and  reserve,  together 
with  a  bold  determination  to  dy  her  duty  at  all  events.  There  were  about 
fifteen  of  the  principal  crusaders  assembled  in  council,  with  their  chieftain 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


185 


Godfrey.  lie  himself  was  a  tall  strong  man,  arrived  at  that  period  of  life 
in  which  men  are  supposed  to  have  lost  none  of  their  resolution,  while  they 
have  acquired  a  wisdom  and  circumspection  unknown  to  their  earlier  years. 
The  countenance  of  Godfrey  bespoke  both  prudence  and  boldness,  and 
resembled  his  hair,  where  a  few  threads  of  silver  were  already  mingled 
with  his  raven  locks. 

Tancred,  the  noblest  knight  of  the  Christian  chivalry,  sat  at  no  great  dis¬ 
tance  from  him,  with  Hugh,  Earl  of  Vermandois,  generally  called  the  Great 
Count,  the  selfish  and  wily  Bohemond,  the  powerful  Raymond  of  Provence, 
and  others  of  the  principal  crusaders,  all  more  or  less  completely  sheathed 
in  armour. 

Bertha  did  not  allow  her  courage  to  be  broken  down,  but  advancing  with 
a  timid  grace  towards  Godfrey,  she  placed  in  his  hands  the  signet  which 
had  been  restored  to  her  by  the  young  page,  and  after  a  deep  obeisance, 
spoke  these  words :  “  Godfrey,  Count  of  Bouillon,  Duke  of  Lorraine  the 
Lower,  Chief  of  the  Holy  Enterprise  called  the  Crusade,  and  you,  his 
gallant  comrades,  peers,  and  companions,  by  whatever  titles  you  may  be 
honoured,  I,  an  humble  maiden  of  England,  daughter  of  Engelred,  origi¬ 
nally  a  franklin  of  Hampshire,  and  since  Chieftain  of  the  Foresters,  or  free 
Anglo-Saxons,  under  the  command  of  the  celebrated'  Edric,  do  claim  what 
credence  is  due  to  the  bearer  of  the  true  pledge  which  I  put  into  your  hand, 
on  the  part  of  one  not  the  least  considerable  of  your  own  body,  Count 
Robert  of  Paris” - 

“  Our  most  honourable  confederate,”  said  Godfrey,  looking  at  the  ring. 
“  Most  of  you,  my  lords,  must,  I  think,  know  this  signet — a  field  sown  with 
the  fragments  of  many  splintered  lances.”  The  signet  was  handed  from 
one  of  the  Assembly  to  another,  and  generally  recognised. 

When  Godfrey  had  signified  so  much,  the  maiden  resumed  her  message. 
“  To  all  true  crusaders,  therefore,  comrades  of  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  and 
especially  to  the  Duke  himself,  —  to  all,  I  say,  excepting  Bohemond  of 
Tarentum,  whom  he  counts  unworthy  of  his  notice” - 

“  Ilah  !  me  unworthy  of  his  notice,”  said  Bohemond.  “What  mean  you 
by  that,  damsel? — But  the  Count  of  Paris  shall  answer  it  to  me.” 

“Under  your  favour.  Sir  Bohemond,”  said  Godfrey,  “no.  Our  articles 
renounce  the  sending  of  challenges  among  ourselves,  and  the  matter,  if  not 
dropt  betwixt  the  parties,  must  be  referred  to  the  voice  of  this  honourable 
council.” 

“1  think  I  guess  the  business  now,  my  lord,”  said  Bohemond.  “The 
Count  of  Paris  is  disposed  to  turn  and  tear  me,  because  I  offered  him  good 
counsel  on  the  evening  before  we  left  Constantinople,  when  he  neglected  to 
accept  or  be  guided  by  it” - 

“It  will  be  the  more  easily  explained  when  we  have  heard  his  message,” 
said  Godfrey.  —  “Speak  forth  Lord  Robert  of  Paris’s  charge,  damsel,  that 
we  may  take  some  order  with  that  which  now  seems  a  perplexed  business.” 

Bertha  resumed  her  message ;  and,  having  briefly  narrated  the  recent 
events,  thus  concluded:  —  “  The  battle  is  to  be  done  to-morrow,  about  two 
hours  after  daybreak,  and  the  Count  entreats  of  the  noble  Duke  of  Lor¬ 
raine  that  he  will  permit  some  fifty  of  the  lances  of  France  to  attend  the 
deed  of  arms,  and  secure  that  fair  and  honourable  conduct  which  he  has 
otherwise  some  doubts  of  receiving  at  the  hands  of  his  adversary.  Or  if 
any  young  and  gallant  knight  should,  of  his  own  free  will,  wish  to  view  the 
said  combat,  the  Count  will  feel  his  presence  as  an  honour;  always  he 
desires  that  the  name  of  such  knight  be  numbered  carefully  with  the  armed 
crusaders  who  shall  attend  in  the  lists,  and  that  the  whole  shall  be  limited, 
by  Duke  Godfrey's  own  inspection,  to  fifty  lances  only,  which  are  enough  to 
obtain  the  protection  required,  while  more  would  be  considered  as  a  prepa¬ 
ration  for  aggression  upon  the  Grecians,  and  occasion  the  revival  of  disputes 
which  are  now  happily  at  rest.” 


186 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


Bertha  had  no  sooner  finished  delivering  her  manifesto,  and  made  with 
great  grace  her  obeisance  to  the  council,  than  a  sort  of  whisper  took  place 
in  the  assembly,  which  soon  assumed  a  more  lively  tone. 

Their  solemn  vow  not  to  turn  their  back  upon  Palestine,  now  that  they 
had  set  their  hands  to  the  plough,  was  strongly  urged  by  some  of  the  elder 
knights  of  the  council,  and  two  or  three  high  prelates,  who  had  by  this 
time  entered  to  take  share  in  the  deliberations.  The  young  knights,  on  the 
other  hand,  were  fired  with  indignation  on  hearing  the  manner  in  which 
their  comrade  had  been  trepanned  ;  and  few  of  them  could  think  of  missing 
a  combat  in  the  lists  in  a  country  in  which  such  sights  were  so  rare,  and 
where  one  was  to  be  fought  so  near  them. 

Godfrey  rested  his  brow  on  his  hand,  and  seemed  in  great  perplexity.  To 
break  with  the  Greeks,  after  having  suffered  so  many  injuries  in  order  to 
maintain  the  advantage  of  keeping  the  peace  with  them,  seemed  very  impo¬ 
litic,  and  a  sacrifice  of  all  he  had  obtained  by  a  long  course  of  painful  for¬ 
bearance  towards  Alexius  Comnenus.  On  the  other  hand,  he  was  bound 
as  a  man  of  honour  to  resent  the  injury  offered  to  Count  Robert  of  Paris, 
whose  reckless  spirit  of  chivalry  made  him  the  darling  of  the  army.  It 
was  the  cause,  too,  of  a  beautiful  lady,  and  a  brave  one :  every  knight  in 
the  host  would  think  himself  bound,  by  his  vow,  to  hasten  to  her  defence. 
When  Godfrey  spoke,  it  was  to  complain  of  the  difficulty  of  the  determina¬ 
tion,  and  the  short  time  there  was  to  consider  the  case. 

“  With  submission  to  my  Lord  Duke  of  Lorraine,’^  said  Tancred,  “  I  was 
a  knight  ere  I  was  a  crusader,  and  took  on  me  the  vows  of  chivalry,  ere  I 
placed  this  blessed  sign  upon  my  shoulder ;  the  vow  first  made  must  be  first 
discharged.  I  will  therefore  do  penance  for  neglecting,  for  a  space,  the 
obligations  of  the  second  vow,  while  I  observe  that  which  recalls  me  to  the 
first  duty  of  knighthood,  —  the  relief  of  a  distressed  lady  in  the  hands  of 
men  whose  conduct  towards  her,  and  towards  this  host,  in  every  respect 
entitles  me  to  call  them  treacherous  faitours.^’ 

“If  my  kinsman  Tancred,^^  said  Bohemond,  “  will  check  his  impetuosity, 
and  you,  my  lords,  will  listen,  as  you  have  sometimes  deigned  to  do,  to  my 
advice,  I  think  I  can  direct  you  how  to  keep  clear  of  any  breach  of  your 
oath,  and  yet  fully  to  relieve  our  distressed  fellow-pilgrims.  —  I  see  some 
suspicious  looks  are  cast  towards  me,  which  are  caused  perhaps  by  the 
churlish  manner  in  which  this  violent,  and,  in  this  case,  almost  insane  young 
warrior,  has  protested  against  receiving  my  assistance.  My  great  offence  is 
the  having  given  him  warning,  by  precept  and  example,  of  the  treachery 
which  was  about  to  be  practised  against  him,  and  instructed  him  to  use  for¬ 
bearance  and  temperance.  My  warning  he  altogether  contemned  —  my, 
example  he  neglected  to  follow,  and  fell  into  the  snare  which  was  spread,  as 
it  were,  before  his  very  eyes.  Yet  the  Count  of  Paris,  in  rashly  contemning 
me;  has  acted  only  from  a  temper  which  misfortune  and  disappointment 
have  rendered  irrational  and  frantic.  I  am  so  far  from  bearing  him  ill- 
will,  that,  with  your  lordship’s  permission,  and  that  of  the  present  council, 
I  will  haste  to  the  place  of  rendezvous  with  fifty  lances,  making  up  the 
retinue  which  attends  upon  each  to  at  least  ten  men,  which  will  make  the 
stipulated  auxiliary  force  equal  to  five  hundred ;  and  with  these  I  can  have 
little  doubt  of  rescuing  the  Count  and  his  lady.” 

“Nobly  proposed,”  said  the  Duke  of  Bouillon;  “and  with  a  charitable 
forgiveness  of  injuries  which  becomes  our  Christian  expedition.  But  thou 
hast  forgot  the  main  difficulty,  brother  Bohemond,  that  we  are  sworn  never 
to  turn  back  upon  the  sacred  journey.” 

“If  we  can  elude  that  oath  upon  the  present  occasion,”  said  Bohemond, 
“  it  becomes  our  duty  to  do  so.  Are  we  such  bad  horsemen,  or  are  our 
steeds  so  awkward,  that  we  cannot  rein  them  back  from  this  to  the  landing- 
place  at  Scutari?  We  can  get  them  on  shipboard  in  the  same  retrograde 
manner,  and  when  we  arrive  in  Europe,  where  our  vow  binds  us  no  longer, 


COUNT  KOBE  R  TO  F  PARIS.  187 

the  Count  and  Countess  of  Paris  are  rescued,  and  our  vow  remains  entire 
ill  the  Chancery  of  Heaven/’ 

A  general  shout  arose — “  Long  life  to  the  gallant  Bohemond ! — Shame  to 
us  if  we  do  not  fly  to  the  assistance  of  so  valiant  a  knight,  and  a  lady  so 
lovely,  since  we  can  do  so  without  breach  of  our  vow.” 

“  The  question,”  said  Godfrey,  “  appears  to  me  to  be  eluded  rather  than 
solved ;  yet  such  evasions  have  been  admitted  by  the  most  learned  and 
scrupulous  clerks  ;  nor  do  I  hesitate  to  admit  of  Bohemond’s  expedient,  any 
more  than  if  the  enemy  had  attacked  our  rear,  which  might  have  occasioned 
our  countermarching  to  be  a  case  of  absolute  necessity.” 

Some  there  were  in  the  assembly,  particularly  the  churchmen,  inclined 
to  think  that  the  oath  by  which  the  crusaders  had  solemnly  bound  them¬ 
selves,  ought  to  be  as  literally  obeyed.  But  Peter  the  Hermit,  who  had  a 
place  in  the  council,  and  possessed  great  weight,  declared  it  as  his  opinion, 
“  That  since  the  precise  observance  of  their  vow  would  tend  to  diminish  the 
forces  of  the  crusade,  it  was  in  fact  unlawful,  and  should  not  be  kept  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  literal  meaning,  if,  by  a  fair  construction,  it  could  be  eluded.” 

He  olfered  himself  to  back  the  animal  which  he  bestrode — that  is,  his  ass  ; 
and  though  he  was  diverted  from  showing  this  example  by  the  remonstrances 
of  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  who  was  afraid  of  his  becoming  a  scandal  in  the 
eyes  of  the  heathen,  yet  he  so  prevailed  by  his  arguments,  that  the  knights, 
far  from  scrupling  to  countermarch,  eagerly  contended  which  should  have 
the  honqur  of  making  one  of  the  party  which  should  retrograde  to  Constan¬ 
tinople,  see  the  combat,  and  bring  back  to  the  host  in  safety  the  valorous 
Count  of  Paris,  of  whose  victory  no  one  doubted,  and  his  Amazonian 
Countess. 

This  emulation  was  also  put  an  end  to  by  the  authority  of  Godfrey,  who 
himself  selected  the  fifty  knights  who  were  to  compose  the  party.  They 
were  chosen  from  different  nations,  and  the  command  of  the  whole  was 
given  to  young  Tancred  of  Otranto.  Notwithstanding  the  claim  of  Bohe¬ 
mond,  Godfrey  detained  the  latter,  under  the  pretext  that  his  knowledge  of 
the  country  and  people  was  absolutely  necessary  to  enable  the  council  to 
form  the  plan  of  the  campaign  in  Syria ;  but  in  reality  he  dreaded  the  sel¬ 
fishness  of  a  man  of  great  ingenuity  as  well  as  military  skill,  who,  finding 
himself  in  a  separate  command,  might  be  tempted,  should  opportunities 
arise,  to  enlarge  his  own  power  and  dominion,  at  the  expense  of  the  pious 
purposes  of  the  crusade  in  general.  The  younger  men  of  the  expedition 
were  chiefly  anxious  to  procure  such  horses  as  had  been  thoroughly  trained, 
and  could  go  through  Mfith  ease  and  temper  the  manoeuvre  of  equitation,  by 
which  it  was  designed  to  render  legitijuate  the  movement  which  they  had 
recourse  to.  The  selection  was  at  length  made,  and  the  detachment  ordered 
to  draw  up  in  the  rear,  or  upon  the  eastward  line  of  the  Christian  encamp¬ 
ment.  In  the  meanwhile,  Godfrey  charged  Bertha  with  a  message  for  the 
Count  of  Paris,  in  which,  slightly  censuring  him  for  not  observing  more 
caution  in  his  intercourse  with  the  Greeks,  he  informed  him  that  he  had 
sent  a  detachment  of  fifty  lances,  with  the  corresponding  squires,  pages, 
men-at-arms,  and  cross-bows,  five  hundred  in  number,  commanded  by  the 
valiant  Tancred,  to  his  assistance.  The  Duke  also  informed  him,  that  he 
had  added  a  suit  of  armour  of  the  best  temper  Milan  could  afford,  together 
with  a  trusty  war-horse,  which  he  entreated  him  to  use  upon  the  field  of 
battle ;  for  Bertha  had  not  omitted  to  intimate  Count  Robert’s  want  of  the 
means  of  knightly  equipment.  The  horse  was  brought  before  the  pavilion 
accordingly,  completely  barbed  or  armed  in  steel,  and  laden  with  armour 
for  the  knight’s  body.  Godfrey  himself  put  the  bridle  into  Bertha’s 
hand. 

“  Thou  need’st  not  fear  to  trust  thyself  with  this  steed,  he  is  as  gentle  and 
docile  as  he  is  fleet  and  brave.  Place  thyself  on  his  back,  and  take  heed 
thou  stir  not  from  the  side  of  the  noble  Prince  Tancred  of  Otranto,  who 


188 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


will  be  the  faithful  defender  of  a  maiden  that  has  this  day  shown  dexterity, 
courage,  and  fidelity.’^ 

Bertha  bowed  low,  as  her  cheeks  glowed  at  praise  from  one  whose  talents 
and  worth  were  in  such  general  esteem,  as  to  have  raised  him  to  the  distin¬ 
guished  situation  of  leader  of  a  host  which  numbered  in  it  the  bravest  and 
most  distinguished  captains  of  Christendom. 

“Who  are  yon  two  persons?’^  continued  Godfrey,  speaking  of  the  com¬ 
panions  of  Bertha,  whom  he  saw  in  the  distance  before  the  tent. 

“  The  one,^^  answered  the  damsel,  “is  the  master  of  the  ferry-boat  which 
brought  me  over;  and  the  other  an  old  Varangian  who  came  hither  as  my 
protector.’^ 

“  As  they  may  come  to  employ  their  eyes  here,  and  their  tongues  on  the 
opposite  side,”  returned  the  general  of  the  crusaders,  “I  do  not  think  it 
prudent  to  let  them  accompany  you.  They  shall  remain  here  for  some  short 
time.  The  citizens  of  Scutari  will  not  comprehend  for  some  space  what  our 
intention  is,  and  I  could  wish  Prince  Tancred  and  his  attendants  to  be  the 
first  to  announce  their  own  arrival.” 

Bertha  accordingly  intimated  the  pleasure  of  the  French  general  to  the 
parties,  without  naming  his  motives  ;  when  the  ferryman  began  to  exclaim 
on  the  hardship  of  intercepting  him  in  his  trade ;  and  Osmund  to  complain 
of  being  detained  from  his  duties.  But  Bertha,  by  the  orders  of  Godfrey, 
left  them,  with  the  assurance  that  they  would  be  soon  at  liberty.  Finding 
themselves  thus  abandoned,  each  applied  himself  to  his  favourite,  amuse¬ 
ment.  The  ferryman  occupied  himself  in  staring  about  at  all  that  was  new; 
and  Osmund,  having  in  the  meantime  accepted  an  offer  of  breakfast  from 
some  of  the  domestics,  was  presently  engaged  with  a  flask  of  such  red  wine 
as  would  have  reconciled  him  to  a  worse  lot  than  that  which  he  at  present 
experienced. 

The  detachment  of  Tancred,  fifty  spears  and  their  armed  retinue,  which 
amounted  fully  to  five  hundred  men,  after  having  taken  a  short  and  hasty 
refreshment,  were  in  arms  and  mounted  before  the  sultry  hour  of  noon. 
After  some  manoeuvres,  of  which  the  Greeks  of  Scutari,  whose  curiosity 
was  awakened  by  the  preparations  of  the  detachment,  were  at  a  loss  to  com¬ 
prehend  the  purpose,  they  formed  into  a  single  column,  having  four  men  in 
front.  When  the  horses  were  in  this  position,  the  whole  riders  at  once 
began  to  rein  back.  The  action  was  one  to  which  both  the  cavaliers  and 
their  horses  were  well  accustomed,  nor  did  it  at  first  afford  much  surprise 
to  the  spectators  ;  but  when  the  same  retrograde  evolution  was  continued, 
and  the  body  of  crusaders  seemed  about  to  enter  the  town  of  Scutari  in  so 
extraordinary  a  fashion,  some  idea  of  the  truth  began  to  occupy  the  citizens. 
The  cry  at  length  was  general,  when  Tancred  and  a  few  others,  whose  horses 
were  unusually  well-trained,  arrived  at  the  port,  and  possessed  themselves  of 
a  galley,  info  which  they  led  their  horses,  and,  disregarding  all  opposition 
from  the  Imperial  ofiicers  of  the  haven,  pushed  the  vessel  off  from  the  shore. 

Other  cavaliers  did  not  accomplish  their  purpose  so  easily ;  the  riders,  or 
the  horses,  were  less  accustomed  to  continue  in  the  constrained  pace  for 
such  a  considerable  length  of  time,  so  that  many  of  the  knights,  having 
retrograded  for  one  or  two  hundred  yards,  thought  their  vow  was  sufficiently 
observed  by  having  so  far  deferred  to  it,  and  riding  in  the  ordinary  manner 
into  the  town,  seized  without  farther  ceremony  on  some  vessels,  which,  not¬ 
withstanding  the  orders  of  the  Greek  Emperor,  had  been  allowed  to  remain 
on  the  Asiatic  side  of  the  strait.  Some  less  able  horsemen  met  with  various 
accidents  ;  for  though  it  was  a  proverb  of  the  time,  that  nothing  was  so 
bold  as  a  blind  horse,  yet  from  this  mode  of  equitatipn,  where  neither  horse 
nor  rider  saw  the  way  he  was  going,  some  steeds  were  overthrown,  others 
backed  upon  dangerous  obstacles ;  and  the  bones  of  the  cavaliers  them-  ' 
selves  suffered  much  more  than  would  have  been  the  case  in  an  ordinary 
march. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


189 


Those  horsemen,  also,  who  met  with  falls,  incurred  the  danger  of  being 
slain  by  the  Greeks,  had  not  Godfrey,  surmounting  his  religious  scruples, 
despatched  a  squadron  to  extricate  them  —  a  task  which  they  performed  / 
with  great  ease.  The  greater  part  of  Tancred’s  followers  succeeded  in  em¬ 
barking,  as  was  intended,  nor  was  there  more  than  a  score  or  two  finally 
amissing.  To  accomplish  their  voyage,  however,  even  the  Prince  of  Otranto 
himself,  and  most  of  his  followers,  were  obliged  to  betake  themselves  to  the 
uuknightly  labours  of  the  oar.  This  they  found  extremely  difficult,  as  well 
from  the  state  both  of  the  tide  and  the  wind,  as  from  the  want  of  practice 
at  the  exercise.  Godfrey  in  person  viewed  their  progress  anxiously,  from 
a  neighbouring  height,  and  perceived  with  regret  the  difficulty  which  they 
found  in  making  their  way,  which  was  still  more  increased  by  the  necessity 
for  their  keeping  in  a  body,  and  waiting  for  the  slowest  and  worst  manned 
vessels,  which  considerably  detained  those  that  were  more  expeditious. 

They  made  some  progress,  however;  nor  had  the  commander-in-chief  the 
least  doubt,  that  before  sunset  they  would  safely  reach  the  opposite  side  of 
the  strait. 

lie  retired  at  length  from  his  post  of  observation,  having  placed  a  careful 
sentinel  in  his  stead,  with  directions  to  bring  him  word  the  instant  that  the 
detachment  reached  the  opposite  shore.  This  the  soldier  could  easily  dis¬ 
cern  by  the  eye,  if  it  was  daylight  at  the  time  ;  if,  on  the  contrary,  it  was 
night  before  they  could  arrive,  the  Prince  of  Otranto  had  orders  to  show 
certain  lights,  which,  in  case  of  their  meeting  resistance  from  the  Greeks, 
should  be  arranged  in  a  peculiar  manner,  so  as  to  indicate  danger. 

Godfrey  then  explained  to  the  Greek  authorities  of  Scutari,  whom  he 
summoned  before  him,  the  necessity  there  was  that  he  should  keep  in  readi¬ 
ness  such  vessels  as  could  be  procured,  with  which,  in  case  of  need,  he  was 
determined  to  transport  a  strong  division  from  his  army  to  support  those’ 
who  had  gone  before,  lie  then  rode  back  to  his  camp,  the  confused  mur¬ 
murs  of  which,  rendered  more  noisy  by  the  various  discussions  concerning 
the  events  of  the  day,  rolled  off  from  the  numerous  host  of  the  crusaders, 
and  mingled  with  the  hoarse  sound  of  the  many-billowed  Hellespont. 


Ctioptn  tjjE  '(Kintnti|-/nnrtji. 

All  is  prepared  —  the  chambers  of  the  mine 

Are  cramm’d  with  the  combustible,  which,  harmless 

While  yet  unkindled,  as  the  sable  sand, 

Keeds  but  a  spark  to  change  its  nature  so. 

That  he  who  wakes  it  from  its  slumbrous  mood. 

Dreads  scarce  the  explosion  less  than  he  who  knows 
That  ’tis  his  towers  which  meet  its  fury. 

Anonymous. 

When  the  sky  is  darkened  suddenly,  and  the  atmosphere  grows  thick  and 
stifling,  the  lower  ranks  of  creation  entertain  the  ominous  sense  of  a  coming 
tempest.  The  birds  fly  to  the  thickets,  the  wild  creatures  retreat  to  the 
closest  covers  wffiich  their  instinct  gives  them  the  habit  of  frequenting,  and 
domestic  animals  show  their  apprehension  of  the  approaching  thunder-  • 
storm  by  singular  actions  and  movements  inferring  fear  and  disturbance. 

It  seems  that  human  nature,  when  its  original  habits  are  cultivated  and 
attended  to,  possesses,  on  similar  occasions,  something  of  that  prescient  fore¬ 
boding,  which  announces  the  approaching  tempest  to  the  inferior  ranks  of 
creation.  The  cultivation  of  our  intellectual  powers  goes  perhaps  too  far. 


190 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


when  it  teaches  us  entirely  to  suppress  and  disregard  those  natural  feelings, 
which  were  originally  designed  as  sentinels  by  which  nature  warned  us  of 
impending  danger. 

Something  of  the  kind,  however,  still  remains,  and  that  species  of  feeling 
which  announces  to  us  sorrowful  or  alarming  tidings,  may  be  said,  like  the 
prophecies  of  the  weird  sisters,  to  come  over  us  like  a  sudden  cloud. 

During  the  fatal  da}’’  which  was  to  precede  the  combat  of  the  Csesar  with 
the  Count  of  Paris,  there  were  current  through  the  city  of  Constantinople 
the  most  contradictory,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  terrific  reports. 
Privy  conspiracy,  it  was  alleged,  was  on  the  very  eve  of  breaking  out ; 
open  war,  it  was  reported  by  others,  was  about  to  shake  her  banners  over 
the  devoted  city ;  the  precise  cause  was  not  agreed  upon,  any  more  than  the 
nature  of  the  enemy.  Some  said  that  the  barbarians  from  the  borders  of 
Thracia,  the  Hungarians,  as  they  were  termed,  and  the  Comani,  were  on 
their  march  from  the  frontiers  to  surprise  the  city ;  another  report  stated 
that  the  Turks,  who,  during  this  period,  were  established  in  Asia,  had 
resolved  to  prevent  the  threatened  attack  of  the  crusaders  upon  Palestine, 
by  surprising  not  only  the  Western  Pilgrims,  but  the  Christians  of  the 
East,  by  one  of  their  innumerable  invasions,  executed  with  their  charac¬ 
teristic  rapidity. 

Another  report,  approaching  more  near  to  the  truth,  declared  that  the 
crusaders  themselves,  having  discovered  their  various  causes  of  complaint 
against  Alexius  Comnenus,  had  resolved  to  march  back  their  united  forces 
to  the  capital,  with  a  view  of  dethroning  or  chastising  him  ;  and  the  citizens 
were  dreadfully  alarmed  for  the  consequences  of  the  resentment  of  men  so 
fierce  in  their  habits  and  so  strange  in  their  manners.  In  short,  although 
they  did  not  all  agree  on  the  precise  cause  of  danger,  it  was  yet  generally 
allowed  that  something  of  a  dreadful  kind  was  impending,  which  appeared 
to  be  in  a  certain  degree  confirmed  by  the  motions  that  were  taking  place 
among  the  troops.  The  Varangians,  as  well  as  the  Immortals,  were  gradu¬ 
ally  assembled,  and  placed  in  occupation  of  the  strongest  parts  of  the  city, 
until  at  length  the  fleet  of  galleys,  row-boats,  and  transports,  occupied  by 
Tancred  and  his  party,  were  observed  to  put  themselves  in  motion  from 
Scutari,  and  attempt  to  gain  such  a  height  in  the  narrow  sea,  as  upon  the 
turn  of  the  tide  should  transport  them  to  the  port  of  the  capital. 

Alexius  Comnenus  was  himself  struck  at  this  unexpected  movement  on 
the  part  of  the  crusaders.  Yet,  after  some  conversation  with  Hereward,  on 
whom  he  had  determined  to  repose  his  confidence,  and  had  now  gone  too  far 
to  retreat,  he  became  reassured,  the  more  especially  by  the  limited  size  of 
the  detachment  which  seemed  to  meditate  so  bold  a  measure  as  an  attack 
upon  his  capital.  To  those  around  him  he  said  with  carelessness,  that  it 
was  hardly  to  be  supposed  that  a  trumpet  could  blow  to  the  charge,  within 
hearing  of  the  crusaders’  camp,  without  some  out  of  so  many  knights  coming 
forth  to  see  the  cause  and  the  issue  of  the  conflict. 

The  conspirators  also  had  their  secret  fears  when  the  little  armament  of 
Tancred  had  been  seen  on  the  straits.  Agelastes  mounted  a  mule,  and  went 
to  the  shore  of  the  sea,  at  the  place  now  called  Galata.  lie  met  Bertha’s 
old  ferryman,  whom  Godfrey  had  set  at  liberty,  partly  in  contempt,  and 
partly  that  the  report  he  was  likely  to  make,  might  serve  to  amuse  the  con¬ 
spirators  in  the  city.  Closely  examined  by  Agelastes,  he  confessed  that  the 
present  detachment,  so  far  as  he  understood,  was  despatched  at  the  instance 
of  Bohemond,  and  was  under  the  command  of  his  kinsman  Tancred,  whose 
well-known  banner  was  floating  from  the  headmost  vessel.  This  gave 
courage  to  Agelastes,  who,  in  the  course  of  his  intrigues,  had  opened  a  private 
communication  with  the  wily  and  ever  mercenary  Prince  of  Antioch.  The 
object  of  the  philosopher  had  been  to  obtain  from  Bohemond  a  body  of  his 
followers  to  co-operate  in  the  intended  conspiracy,  and  fortify  the  party  of 
insurgents.  It  is  true,  that  Bohemond  had  returned  no  answer,  but  the 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


191 


account  now  given  by  the  ferryman,  and  the  sight  of  Tancred  the  kinsman 
of  Bohemond’s  banner  displayed  on  the  straits,  satisfied  the  philosopher  that 
his  ofiTers,  his  presents,  and  his  promises,  had  gained  to  his  side  the  avari¬ 
cious  Italian,  and  that  this  band  had  been  selected  by  Bohemond,  and  were 
coming  to  act  in  his  favour. 

As  Agelastes  turned  to  go  off,  he  almost  jostled  a  person,  as  much 
muffled  up,  and  apparently  as  unwilling  to  be  known,  as  the  philosopher 
himself.  Alexius  Comnenus,  however  —  for  it  was  the  Emperor  himself — 
knew  Agelastes,  though  rather  from  his  stature  and  gestures,  than  his 
countenance ;  and  could  not  forbear  whispering  in  his  ear,  as  he  passed,  the 
well-known  lines,  to  which  the  pretended  sage^s  various  acquisitions  gave 
some  degree  of  point : — 

“  Grammatinus.  rhetor,  peomefres,  pictor,  aliptes, 

Aufiiir,  sclicenohales,  iiiedirus,  ma^us ;  omnia  novit. 

Grajculus  esurieiis  in  cselum,  jusseris,  ibit.”* 

Agelastes  first  started  at  the  unexpected  sound  of  the  Emperor’s  voice,  yet 
immediately  recovered  presence  of  mind,  the  want  of  which  had  made  him 
suspect  himself  betrayed ;  and  without  taking  notice  of  the  rank  of  the 
person  to  whom  he  spoke,  he  answered  by  a  quotation  which  should  return 
the  alarm  he  had  received.  The  speech  that  suggested  itself  was  said  to  be 
that  which  the  Phantom  of  Cleonice  dinned  into  the  ears  of  the  tyrant  wdio 
murdered  her: — 

“Tu  cole  justitiarn;  teque  atque  alios  manet  ultor.”t 

The  sentence,  and  the  recollections  which  accompanied  it,  thrilled  through 
the  heart  of  the  Emperor,  who  walked  on,  however,  without  any  notice  or 
reply. 

“  The  vile  conspirator,”  he  said,  “  had  his  associates  around  him,  other¬ 
wise  he  had  not  hazarded  that  threat.  Or  it  may  have  been  worse  — 
Agelastes  himself,  on  the  very  brink  of  this  world,  may  have  obtained  that 
singular  glance  into  futurity  proper  to  that  situation,  and  perhaps  speaks 
less  from  his  own  reflection  than  from  a  strange  spirit  of  prescience,  which 
dictates  his  words.  Have  I  then  in  earnest  sinned  so  far  in  my  imperial 
duty,  as  to  make  it  just  to  apply  to  me  the  warning  used  by  the  injured 
Cleonice  to  her  ravisher  and  murderer?  Methinks  I  have  not.  Methinks 
that  at  less  expense  than  that  of  a  just  severity,  I  could  ill  have  kept  rny 
seat  in  the  high  place  where  Heaven  has  been  pleased  to  seat  me,  and 
where,  as  a  ruler,  I  am  bound  to  maintain  my  station.  Methinks  the  sum 
of  those  w'ho  have  experienced  my  clemency  may  be  well  numbered  with 
that  of  such  as  have  sustained  the  deserved  punishments  of  their  guilt  — 
But  has  that  vengeance,  however  deserved  in  itself,  been  always  taken  in  a 
legal  or  justifiable  manner?  My  conscience,  I  doubt,  will  hardly  answer  so 
home  a  question  ;  and  where  is  the  man,  had  he  the  virtues  of  Antoninus 
himself,  that  can  hold  so  high  and  responsible  a  place,  yet  sustain  such  an 
interrogation  as  is  implied  in  that  sort  of  warning  which  I  have  received 
from  this  traitor?  Tii  cole  jusiitiain — we  all  need  to  use  justice  to  others — 
Teqve  atque  alios  manet  ultor — we  are  all  amenable  to  an  avenging  being — 
I  will  see  the  Patriarch. —  instantly  will  I  see  him;  and  by  confessing  my 
transgressions  to  the  Church,  I  will,  by  her  plenary  indulgence,  acquire  the 
right  of  spending  the  last  day  of  my  reign  in  a  consciousness  of  innocence, 
or  at  least  of  pardon  —  a  state  of  mind  rarely  the  lot  of  those  whose  lines 
have  fallen  in  lofty  places.” 

So  saying,  he  passed  to  the  palace  of  Zosimus  the  Patriarch,  to  whom  he 
could  unbosom  himself  with  more  safety,  because  he  had  long  considered 
Agelastes  as  a  private  enemy  to  the  Church,  and  a  man  attached  to  the 


*  The  lines  of  Juvenal  imitated  by  Johnson  in  his  London — 

“All  sciences  a  fastin?  Monsieur  knows. 

And  bill  him  go  to  hell — to  hell  he  goes.” 

t  “  Do  thou  cultivate  justice  :  for  thee  and  for  others  there  remains  an  avenger.” — Ovid.  Met. 


192 


WAVER  LEY  NOVELS. 


ancient  doctrines  of  heathenism.  In  the  councils  of  the  state  they  were  also 
opposed  to  each  other,  nor  did  the  Emperor  doubt,  that  in  communicating 
the  secret  of  the  conspiracy  to  the  Patriarch,  he  was  sure  to  attain  a  loyal 
and  firm  supporter  in  the  defence  which  he  proposed  to  himself.  He  there¬ 
fore  gave  a  signal  by  a  low  whistle,  and  a  confidential  officer,  well  mounted, 
approached  him,  who  attended  him  in  his  ride,  though  unostentatiously,  and 
at  some  distance. 

In  this  manner,  therefore,  Alexius  Comnenus  proceeded  to  the  palace  of 
the  Patriarch,  with  as  much  speed  as  was  consistent  with  his  purpose  of 
avoiding  to  attract  any  particular  notice  as  he  passed  through  the  street. 
During  the  whole  ride,  the  warning  of  Agelastes  repeatedly  occurred  to 
him,  and  his  conscience  reminded  him  of  too  many  actions  of  his  reign 
which  could  only  be  justified  by  necessity,  emphatically  said  to  be  the 
tyrant’s  plea,  and  which  were  of  themselves  deserving  the  dire  vengeance 
so  long  delayed. 

When  he  came  in  sight  of  the  splendid  towers  which  adorned  the  front 
of  the  patriarchal  palace,  he  turned  aside  from  the  lofty  gates,  repaired  to  a 
narrow  court,  and  again  giving  his  mule  to  his  attendant,  he  stopt  before  a 
postern,  whose  low  arch  and  humble  architrave  seemed  to  exclude  the  pos¬ 
sibility  of  its  leading  to  any  place  of  importance.  On  knocking,  however, 
a  priest  of  an  inferior  order  opened  the  door,  who,  with  a  deep  reverence, 
received  the  Emperor  so  soon  as  he  had  made  himself  known,  and  conducted 
him  into  the  interior  of  the  palace.  Demanding  a  secret  interview  with  the 
Patriarch,  Alexius  was  then  ushered  into  his  private  library,  where  he  was 
received  by  the  aged  priest  with  the  deepest  respect,  which  the  nature  of  his 
communication  soon  changed  into  horror  and  astonishment. 

Although  Alexius  was  supposed  by  many  of  his  own  court,  and  particu¬ 
larly  by  some  members  of  his  own  family,  to  be  little  better  than  a  hypocrite 
in  his  religious  professions,  yet  such  severe  observers  were  unjust  in  brand¬ 
ing  him  with  a  name  so  odious.  .He  was  indeed  aware  of  the  great  support 
which  he  received  from  the  good  opinion  of  the  clergy,  and  to  them  he  was 
willing  to  make  sacrifices  for  the  advantage  of  the  Church,  or  of  individual 
prelates  who  manifested  fidelity  to  the  crown  ;  but  though,  on  the  one  hand, 
such  sacrifices  were  rarely  made  by  Alexius,  without  a  view  to  temporal 
policy,  yet,  on  the  other,  he  regarded  them  as  recommended  by  his  devo¬ 
tional  feelings,  and  took  credit  to  himself  for  various  grants  and  actions,  as 
dictated  by  sincere  piety,  which,  in  another  aspect,  were  the  fruits  of  tem¬ 
poral  policy.  His  mode  of  looking  on  these  measures  was  that  of  a  person 
with  oblique  vision,  who  sees  an  object  in  a  different  manner,  according  to 
the  point  from  which  he  chances  to  contemplate  it. 

The  Emperor  placed  his  own  errors  of  government  before  the  Patriarch 
in  his  confession,  giving  due  weight  to  every  branch  of  morality  as  it  occur¬ 
red,  and  stripping  from  them  the  lineaments  and  palliative  circumstances 
which  had  in  his  own  imagination  lessened  their  guilt.  The  Patriarch 
heard,  to  his  astonishment,  the  real  thread  of  many  a  court  intrigue,  which 
had  borne  a  very  different  appearance,  till  the  Emperor’s  narrative  either 
justified  his  conduct  upon  the  occasion,  or  left  it  totally  unjustifiable.  Upon 
the  whole,  the  balance  was  certainly  more  in  favour  of  Alexius  than  the 
Patriarch  had  supposed  likely  in  that  more  distant  view  he  had  taken  of 
the  intrigues  of  the  court,  when,  as  usual,  the  ministers  and  the  courtiers 
endeavoured  to  make  up  for  the  applause  which  they  had  given  in  council 
in  the  most  blameable  actions  of  the  absolute  monarch,  by  elsewhere  im¬ 
puting  to  his  motives  greater  guilt  than  really  belonged  to  them.  Many 
men  who  had  fallen  sacrifices,  it  Mms  supposed  to  the  personal  spleen  or 
jealousy  of  the  Emperor,  appeared  to  have  been  in  fact  removed  from  life, 
or  from  liberty,  because  their  enjoying  either  was  inconsistent  with  the 
quiet  of  the  state  and  the  safety  of  the  monarch. 

Zosimus  also  learned,  what  he  perhaps  already  suspected,  that  amidst 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


103 


the  profound  silence  of  despotism  which  seemed  to  pervade  the  Grecian 
empire,  it  heaved  frequently  with  convulsive  throes,  which  ever  and  anon 
made  obvious  the  existence  of  a  volcano  under  the  surface.  Thus,  while 
smaller  delinquencies,  or  avowed  discontent  with  the  Imperial  government, 
seldom  occurred,  and  were  severely  punished  when  they  did,  the  deepest 
and  most  mortal  conspiracies  against  the  life  and  the  authority  of  the 
Emperor  were  cherished  by  those  nearest  to  his  person  ;  and  he  was  often 
himself  aware  of  them,  though  it  was  not  until  they  approached  an  ex¬ 
plosion  that  he  dared  act  upon  his  knowledge,  and  punish  the  conspirators. 

The  whole  treason  of  the  Caesar,  with  his  associates,  Agelastes  and  Achil¬ 
les  Tatius,  was  heard  by  the  Patriarch  with  wonder  and  astonishment,  and 
he  was  particularly  surprised  at  the  dexterity  with  which  the  Emperor, 
knowing  tlie  existence  of  so  dangerous  a  conspiracy  at  home,  had  been  able 
to  parry  the  danger  from  the  crusaders  occurring  at  the  same  moment. 

“  In  that  respect,’'  said  the  Emperor,  to  whom  indeed  the  churchman 
hinted  his  surprise,  “I  have  been  singularly  unfortunate.  Had  I  been 
secure  of  the  forces  of  my  own  empire,  I  might  have  taken  one  out  of  two 
manly  and  open  courses  with  these  frantic  warriors  of  the  west — I  might, 
my  reverend  father,  have  devoted  the  sums  paid  to  Bohemond  and  other  of 
the  more  selfish  among  the  crusaders,  to  the  honest  and  open  support  of 
the  army  of  western  Christians,  and  safely  transported  them  to  Palestine, 
without  exposing  them  to  the  great  loss  which  they  are  likely  to  sustain  by 
the  opposition  of  the  Infidels  ;  their  success  would  have  been  in  fact  my 
own,  and  a  Latin  kingdom  in  Palestine,  defended  by  its  steel-clad  warriors, 
would  have  been  a  safe  and  unexpugnable  barrier  of  the  empire  against  tlie 
Saracens.  Or,  if  it  was  thought  more  expedient  for  the  protection  of  the 
empire  and  the  holy  Church,  over  which  you  are  ruler,  we  might  at  once, 
and  by  open  force,  have  defended  the  frontiers  of  our  states,  against  a  host 
commanded  by  so  many  different  and  discording  chiefs,  and  advancing  upon 
us  with  such  equivocal  intentions.  If  the  first  swarm  of  these  locusts,  under 
him  whom  they  called  Walter  the  Penniless,  was  thinned  by  the  Hungarians, 
and  totally  destroyed  by  the  Turks,  as  the  pyramids  of  bones  on  the  frontiers 
of  the  country  still  keep  in  memory,  surely  the  united  forces  of  the  Grecian 
empire  would  have  had  little  difficulty  in  scattering  this  second  flight,  though 
commanded  by  these  Godfreys,  Bohemonds,  and  Tancreds.” 

The  Patriarch  was  silent,  for  though  he  disliked,  or  rather  detested  the 
crusaders,  as  members  of  the  Latin  Church,  he  yet  thought  it  highly  doubt¬ 
ful  that  in  feats  of  battle  they  could  have  been  met  and  overcome  by  the 
Grecian  forces. 

“  At  any  rate,”  said  Alexius,  rightly  interpreting  his  silence,  “  if  van¬ 
quished,  I  had  fallen  under  my  shield  as  a  Greek  emperor  should,  nor  had 
I  been  forced  into  these  mean  measures  of  attacking  men  by  stealth,  and 
with  forces  disguised  as  infidels ;  while  the  lives  of  the  faithful  soldiers  of 
the  empire,  who  have  fallen  in  obscure  skirmishes,  had  better,  both  for  them 
and  me,  been  lost  bravely  in  their  ranks,  avowedly  fighting  for  their  native 
emperor  and  their  native  country.  Now,  and  as  the  matter  stands,  I  shall 
be  handed  down  to  posterity  as  a  wily  tyrant,  who  engaged  his  subjects  in 
fatal  feuds  for  the  safety  of  his  own  obscure  life.  Patriarch  !  these  crimes 
rest  not  with  me,  but  with  the  rebels  whose  intrigues  compelled  me  into 
such  courses  —  What,  reverend  father,  will  be  my  fate  hereafter?  —  and  in 
what  light  shall  I  descend  to  posterity,  the  author  of  so  many  disasters?” 

“For  futurity,”  said  the  Patriarch,  “ your  grace  hath  referred  yourself 
to  the  holy  Church,  which  hath  power  to  bind  and  loose ;  your  means  of 
propitiating  her  are  ample,  and  I  have  already  indicated  such  as  she  may 
reasonably  expect,  in  consequence  of  your  repentance  and  forgiveness.” 

“They  shall  be  granted,”  replied  the  Emperor,  “in  their  fullest  extent; 
nor  will  I  injure  you  in  doubting  their  effect  in  the  next  world.  In  this 
present  state  of  existence,  however,  the  favourable  opinion  of  the  Church 
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194 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


may  do  much  for  me  during  this  important  crisis.  If  we  understand  each 
other,  good  Zosimus,  her  doctors  and  bishops  are  to  thunder  in  my  behalf, 
nor  is  my  benefit  from  her  pardon  to  be  deferred  till  the  funeral  monument 
closes  upon  me 

“  Certainly  not,’^  said  Zosimus ;  “  the  conditions  which  I  have  already 
stipulated  being  strictly  attended  to,’^ 

“  And  my  memory  in  history, said  Alexius,  “  in  what  manner  is  that 
to  be  preserved  V’ 

“For  that,^^  answered  the  Patriarch,  “your  Imperial  Majesty  must  trust 
to  the  filial  piety  and  literary  talents  of  your  accomplished  daughter,  Anna 
Comnena.^^ 

The  Emperor  shook  his  head.  “  This  unhappy  Csesar,^^  he  said,  “  is 
like  to  make  a  quarrel  between  us ;  for  I  shall  scarce  pardon  so  ungrateful 
a  rebel  as  he  is,  because  my  daughter  clings  to  him  with  a  woman's  fond¬ 
ness.  Besides,  good  Zosimus,  it  is  not,  I  believe,  the  page  of  a  historian 
such  as  my  daughter  that  is  most  likely  to  be  received  without  challenge  by 
posterity.  Some  Procopius,  some  philosophical  slave,  starving  in  a  garret, 
aspires  to  write  the  life  of  an  Emperor  whom  he  durst  not  approach ;  and 
although  the  principal  merit  of  his  production  be,  that  it  contains  particu¬ 
lars  upon  the  subject  which  no  man  durst  have  promulgated  while  the  prince 
was  living,  yet  no  man  hesitates  to  admit  such  as  true  when  he  has  passed 
from  the  scene." 

“On  that  subject,"  said  Zosimus,  “I  can  neither  afford  your  Imperial 
Majesty  relief  or  protection.  If,  however,  your  memory  is  unjustly  slandered 
upon  earth,  it  will  1)6  a  matter  of  indifference  to  your  Highness,  who  will 
be  then,  I  trust,  enjoying  a  state  of  beatitude  which  idle  slander  cannot 
assail.  The  only  way,  indeed,  to  avoid  it  while  on  this  side  of  time,  would 
be  to  write  your  Majesty's  own  memoirs  while  you  are  yet  in  the  body ;  so 
convinced  am  I  that  it  is  in  your  power  to  assign  legitimate  excuses  for 
those  actions  of  your  life,  which,  without  your  doing  so,  would  seem  most 
worthy  of  censure." 

“Change  we  the  subject,"  said  the  Emperor;  “and  since  the  danger  is 
imminent,  let  us  take  care  for  the  present,  and  leave  future  ages  to  judge 
for  themselves. — What  circumstance  is  it,  reverend  father,  in  your  opinion, 
which  encourages  these  conspirators  to  make  so  audacious  an  appeal  to  the 
populace  and  the  Grecian  soldiers  ?" 

“Certainly,  “answered  the  Patriarch,  “the  most  irritating  incident  of 
your  highness's  reign  was  the  fate  of  Ursel,  who,  submitting,  it  is  said,  upon 
capitulation,  for  life,  limb,  and  liberty,  was  starved  to  death  by  your  orders, 
in  the  dungeons  of  the  Blacquernal,  and  whose  courage,  liberality,  and 
other  popular  virtues,  are  still  fondly  remembered  by  the  citizens  of  this 
metropolis,  and  by  the  soldiers  of  the  guard,  called  Immortal." 

“And  this,"  said  the  Emperor,  fixing  his  eye  upon  his  confessor,  “your 
reverence  esteems  actually  the  most  dangerous  point  of  the  popular  tumult?" 

“  I  cannot  doubt,"  said  the  Patriarch,  “  that  his  very  name,  boldly  pro¬ 
nounced,  and  artfully  repeated,  wall  be  the  watchword,  as  has  been  plotted, 
of  a  horrible  tumult." 

“  I  thank  Heaven  !"  said  the  Emperor  ;  “  on  that  particular  I  will  be  on 
my  guard.  Good-night  to  your  reverence !  and,  believe  me,  that  all  in  this 
scroll,  to  which  I  have  set  my  hand,  shall  be  with  the  utmost  fidelity  accom¬ 
plished.  Be  not,  however,  over-impatient  in  this  business ; — such  a  shower 
of  benefits  falling  at  once  upon  the  Church,  would  make  men  suspicious 
that  the  prelates  and  ministers  proceeded  rather  as  acting  upon  a  bargain 
between  the  Emperor  and  Patriarch,  than  as  paying  or  receiving  an  atone¬ 
ment  offered  by  a  sinner  in  excuse  of  his  crimes.  This  would  be  injurious, 
father,  both  to  yourself  and  me." 

“  All  regular  delay,"  said  the  Patriarch,  “  shall  be  interposed  at  your 
highness’s  pleasure ;  and  we  shall  trust  to  you  for  recollection  that  the  bar- 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


195 


gain,  if  it  could  be  termed  oue,  was  of  your  own  seeking,  and  that  the  benefit 
to  the  Church  was  contingent  upon  the  pardon  and  the  support  which  she 
has  afforded  to  your  majesty/^  . 

“True,”  said  the  Emperor  —  “most  true  —  nor  shall  I  forget  it.  Once 
more  adieu,  and  forget  not  what  I  have  told  thee.  This  is  a  night,  Zosimus, 
in  which  the  Emperor  must  toil  like  a  slave,  if  he  means  not  to  return  to 
the  humble  Alexius  Comnenus,  and  even  then  there  were  no  resting-place.” 
*  So  saying,  he  took  leave  of  the  Patriarch,  who  was  highly  gratified  with 
the  advantages  he  had  obtained  for  the  Church,  which  many  of  his  prede¬ 
cessors  had  struggled  for  in  vain.  He  resolved,  therefore,  to  support  the 
staggering  Alexius. 


Cjjnpttr  tliE 

Heaven  knows  its  time;  the  bullet  has  its  billet, 

Arrow  and  javelin  each  its  destined  purpose  ; 

The  fated  beasts  of  Nature’s  lower  strain 
Have  each  their  separate  task. 

Old  Play. 

Agelastes,  after  crossing  the  Emperor  in  the  manner  we  have  already 
described,  and  after  having  taken  such  measures  as  occurred  to  him  to 
ensure  the  success  of  the  conspiracy,  returned  to  the  lodge  of  his  garden, 
where  the  lady  of  the  Count  of  Paris  still  remained,  her  only  companion 
being  an  old  woman  named  Vexhelia,  the  wife  of  the  soldier  who  accom¬ 
panied  Bertha  to  the  camp  of  the  Crusaders ;  the  kind-hearted  maiden  hav¬ 
ing  stipulated  that,  during  her  absence,  her  mistress  was  not  to  be  left 
without  an  attendant,  and  that  attendant  connected  with  the  Varangian 
guard.  lie  had  been  all  day  playing  the  part  of  the  ambitious  politician, 
the  selfish  time-server,  the  dark  and  subtle  conspirator;  and  now  it  seemed, 
as  if  to  exhaust  the  catalogue  of  his  various  parts  in  the  human  drama,  he 
chose  to  exhibit  himself  in  the  character  of  the  wily  sophist,  and  justify,  or 
seem  to  justify,  the  arts  by  which  he  had  risen  to  wealth  and  eminence,  and 
hoped  even  now  to  arise  to  royalty  itself. 

“  Fair  Countess,”  he  said,  “  what  occasion  is  there  for  your  wearing  this 
veil  of  sadness  over  a  countenance  so  lovely?” 

“  Do  you  suppose  me,”  said  Brenhilda,  “  a  stock,  or  stone,  or  a  creature 
without  the  feelings  of  a  sensitive  being,  that  I  should  endure  mortification, 
imprisonment,  danger  and  distress,  without  expressing  the  natural  feelings 
of  humanity?  Do  you  imagine  that  to  a  lady  like  me,  as  free  as  the  unre¬ 
claimed  falcon,  you  can  offer  the  insult  of  captivity,  without  my  being  sen¬ 
sible  to  the  disgrace,  or  incensed  against  the  authors  of  it?  And  dost  thou 
think  that  I  will  receive  consolation  at  thy  hands  —  at  thine  —  one  of  the 
most  active  artificers  in  this  web  of  treachery  in  which  I  am  so  basely 
entangled  ?” 

“Not  entangled  certainly  by  my  means” — answered  Agelastes;  “clap 
your  hands,  call  for  what  you  wish,  and  the  slave  who  refuses  instant  obe¬ 
dience  had  better  been  unborn.  Had  I  not,  with  reference  to  your  safety  ' 
and  your  honour,  agreed  for  a  short  time  to  be  your  keeper,  that  ofllce 
would  have  been  usurped  by  the  Caesar,  whose  object  you  know,  and  may 
partly  guess  the  modes  by  which  it  would  be  pursued.  Why  then  dost  thou 
childishly  weep  at  being  held  for  a  short  space  in  an  honourable  restraint, 
which  the  renowned  arms  of  your  husband  will  probably  put  an  end  to  long 
ere  to-morrow  at  noon  ?” 

“  Canst  thou  not  comprehend,”  said  the  Countess,  “  thou  man  of  many 


196 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


words,  but  of  few  honourable  thoughts,  that  a  heart  like  mine,  which  has 
been  trained  in  the  feelings  of  reliance  upon  my  own  worth  and  valour, 
must  be  necessarily  affected  with  shame  at  being  obliged  to  accept,  even  from 
the  sword  of  a  husband,  that  safety  which  I  would  gladly  have  owed  only 
to  my  own 

“Thou  art  misled.  Countess,'^  answered  the  philosopher,  “by  thy  pride, 
a  failing  predominant  in  woman.  Thinkest  thou  there  has  been  no  offen¬ 
sive  assumption  in  laying  aside  the  character  of  a  mother  and  a  wife,  and 
adopting  that  of  one  of  those  brain-sick  female  fools,  who,  like  the  bravoes 
of  the  other  sex,  sacrifice  every  thing  that  is  honourable  or  useful  to  a 
frantic  and  insane  affectation  of  courage  ?  Believe  me,  fair  lady,  that  the 
true  system  of  virtue  consists  in  filling  thine  own  place  gracefully  in  society, 
breeding  up  thy  children,  and  delighting  those  of  the  other  sex,  and  any 
thing  beyond  this,  may  well  render  thee  hateful  or  terrible,  but  can  add 
nothing  to  thy  amiable  qualities.^^ 

“  Thou  pretendest,’^  said  the  Countess,  “  to  be  a  philosopher ;  methinks 
thou  shouldst  know,  that  the  fame  which  hangs  its  chaplet  on  the  tomb  of 
a  brave  hero  or  heroine,  is  worth  all  the  petty  engagements  in  which  ordi¬ 
nary  persons  spend  the  current  of  their  time.  One  hour  of  life,  crowded  to 
the  full  with  glorious  action,  and  filled  with  noble  risks,  is  worth  whole 
years  of  those  mean  observances  of  paltry  decorum,  in  which  men  steal 
through  existence,  like  sluggish  waters  through  a  marsh,  without  either 
honour  or  observation.^' 

“  Daughter,"  said  Agelastes,  approaching  near  to  the  lady,  “  it  is  with 
pain  I  see  you  bewildered  in  errors  which  a  little  calm  reflection  might 
remove.  We  may  flatter  ourselves,  and  human  vanity  usually  does  so,  that 
beings  infinitely  more  powerful  than  those  belonging  to  mere  humanity,  are 
employed  daily  in  measuring  out  the  good  and  evil  of  this  world,  the  termi¬ 
nation  of  combats,  or  the  fate  of  empires,  according  to  their  own  ideas  of 
what  is  right  or  wrong,  or,  more  properly,  according  to  what  we  ourselves 
conceive  to  be  such.  The  Greek  heathens,  renowned  for  their  wisdom,  and 
glorious  for  their  actions,  explained  to  men  of  ordinary  minds  the  supposed 
existence  of  Jupiter  and  his  Pantheon,  where  various  deities  presided  over 
various  virtues  and  vices,  and  regulated  the  temporal  fortune  and  future 
happiness  of  such  as  practised  them.  The  more  learned  and  wise  of  the 
ancients  rejected  such  the  vulgar  interpretation,  and  wisely,  although  affect¬ 
ing  a  deference  to  the  public  faith,  denied  before  their  disciples  in  private, 
the  gross  fallacies  of  Tartarus  and  Olympus,  the  vain  doctrines  concerning 
the  gods  themselves,  and  the  extravagant  expectations  which  the  vulgar 
entertained  of  an  immortality,  supposed  to  be  possessed  by  creatures  who 
were  in  every  respect  mortal,  both  in  the  conformation  of  their  bodies,  and 
in  the  internal  belief  of  their  souls.  Of  these  wise  and  good  men  some 
granted  the  existence  of  the  supposed  deities,  but  denied  that  they  cared 
about  the  actions  of  mankind  any  more  than  those  of  the  inferior  animals. 
A  merry,  jovial,  careless  life,  such  as  the  followers  of  Epicurus  would 
choose  for  themselves,  was  what  they  assigned  for  those  gods  whose  being 
they  admitted.  Others,  more  bold  or  more  consistent,  entirely  denied  the 
existence  of  deities  who  apparently  had  no  proper  object  or  purpose,  and 
believed  that  such  of  them,  whose  being  and  attributes  were  proved  to  us 
by  no  supernatural  appearances,  had  in  reality  no  existence  whatever." 

“  Stop,  wretch !"  said  the  Countess,  “  and  know  that  thou  speakest  not  to 
one  of  those  blinded  heathens,  of  whose  abominable  doctrines  you  are 
detailing  the  result.  Know,  that  if  an  erring,  I  am  nevertheless  a  sincere 
daughter  of  the  Church,  and  this  cross  displayed  on  my  shoulder,  is  a  suffi¬ 
cient  emblem  of  the  vows  I  have  undertaken  in  its  cause.  Bo  therefore 
wary,  as  thou  art  wily ;  for,  believe  me,  if  thou  scoffest  or  utterest  reproach 
against  my  holy  religion,  what  I  am  unable  to  answer  in  language,  I  will 
reply  to,  without  hesitation,  with  the  point  of  my  dagger." 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


197 


“  To  that  argument,”  said  Agelastes,  drawing  back  from  the  neighbour¬ 
hood  of  Brenhilda,  “  believe  me,  fair  lady,  I  am  very  willing  to  urge  your 
gentleness.  But  although  I  shall  not  venture  to  say  any  thing  of  those 
superior  and  benevolent  powers  to  whom  you  ascribe  the  management  of 
the  world,  you  will  surely  not  take  ofience  at  my  noticing  those  base  super¬ 
stitions  which  have  been  adopted  in  explanation  of  what  is  called  by  the 
Magi,  the  Evil  Principle.  Was  there  ever  received  into  a  human  creed,  a 
being  so  mean  —  almost  so  ridiculous — as  the  Christian  Satan?  A  goatish 
figure  and  limbs,  with  grotesque  features,  formed  to  express  the  most  exe¬ 
crable  passions  ;  a  degree  of  power  scarce  inferior  to  that  of  the  Deity  ;  and 
a  talent  at  the  same  time  scarce  equal  to  that  of  the  stupidest  of  the  lowest 
order !  What  is  he,  this  being,  who  is  at  least  the  second  arbiter  of  the 
human  race,  save  an  immortal  spirit,  with  the  petty  spleen  and  spite  of  a 
vindictive  old  man  or  old  woman  ?” 

Agelastes  made  a  singular  pause  in  this  part  of  his  discourse.  A  mirror 
of  considerable  size  hung  in  the  apartment,  so  that  the  philosopher  could 
see  in  its  reflection  the  figure  of  Brenhilda,  and  remark  the  change  of  her 
countenance,  though  she  had  averted  her  face  from  him  in  hatred  of  the 
doctrines  which  he  promulgated.  On  this  glass  the  philosopher  had  his 
eyes  naturally  fixed,  and  he  was  confounded  at  perceiving  a  figure  glide 
from  behind  the  shadow  of  a  curtain,  and  glare  at  him  with  the  supposed 
mien  and  expression  of  the  Satan  of  monkish  mythology,  or  a  satyr  of  the 
heathen  age. 

“  Man !”  said  Brenhilda,  whose  attention  was  attracted  by  this  extraor¬ 
dinary  apparition,  as  it  seemed,  of  the  fiend,  “  have  thy  wicked  words,  and 
still  more  wicked  thoughts,  brought  the  devil  amongst  us  ?  If  so,  dismiss 
him  instantly,  else,  by  Our  Lady  of  the  Broken  Lances !  thou  shalt  know 
better  than  at  present,  what  is  the  temper  of  a  Frankish  maiden,  when  in 
presence  of  the  fiend  himself,  and  those  who  pretend  skill  to  raise  him !  I 
wish  not  to  enter  into  a  contest  unless  compelled ;  but  if  I  am  obliged  to 
join  battle  with  an  enemy  so  horrible,  believe  me,  no  one  shall  say  that 
Brenildha  feared  him.” 

Agelastes,  after  looking  with  surprise  and  horror  at  the  figure  as  reflected 
in  the  glass,  turned  back  his  head  to  examine  the  substance,  of  which  the 
reflection  was  so  strange.  The  object,  however,  had  disappeared  behind 
the  curtain,  under  which  it  probably  lay  hid,  and  it  was  after  a  minute  or 
two  that  the  half-gibing,  half-scowling  countenance  showed  itself  again  in 
the  same  position  in  the  mirror. 

“  By  the  gods  !”  said  Agelastes - 

“In  whom  but  now,”  said  the  Countess,  “you  professed  unbelief.” 

“  By  the  gods  !”  repeated  Agelastes,  in  part  recovering  himself,  “  it  is 
Sylvan  !  that  singular  mockery  of  humanity,  who  was  said  to  have  been 
brought  from  Taprobana.  I  warrant  he  also  believes  in  his  jolly  god  Pan, 
or  the  veteran  Sylvan  us.  He  is  to  the  uninitiated  a  creature  whose  appear¬ 
ance  is  full  of  terrors,  but  he  shrinks  before  the  philosopher  like  ignorance 
before  knowledge.”  So  saying,  he  with  one  hand  pulled  down  the  curtain, 
under  which  the  animal  had  nestled  itself  when  it  entered  from  the  garden- 
window  of  the  pavilion,  and  with  the  other,  in  which  he  had  a  staff  up¬ 
lifted,  threatened  to  chastise  the  creature,  with  the  words,  —  “  How  now, 
Sylvanus  !  what  insolence  is  this  ?  —  To  your  place  !” 

As,  in  uttering  these  words,  he  struck  the  animal,  the  blow  unluckily 
lighted  upon  his  wounded  hand,  and  recalled  its  bitter  smart.  The  wild 
temper  of  the  creature  returned,  unsubdued  for  the  moment  by  any  awe  of 
man  ;  uttering  a  fierce,  and,  at  the  same  time,  stifled  cry,  it  flew  on  the  • 
philosopher,  and  clasped  its  strong  and  sinewy  arms  about  his  throat  with 
the  utmost  fury.  The  old  man  twisted  and  struggled  to  deliver  himself  from 
the  creature’s  grasp,  but  in  vain.  Sylvan  kept  hold  of  his  prize,  compressed 
his  sinewy  arms,  and  abode  by  his  purpose  of  not  quitting  his  hold  of  tho 

R  2 


198 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


philosopher’s  throat  till  he  had  breathed  his  last.  Two  more  bitter  yells, 
accompanied  each  with  a  desperate  contortion  of  the  countenance,  and 
squeeze  of  the  hands,  concluded,  in  less  than  five  minutes,  the  dreadful  strife. 

Agelastes  lay  dead  upon  the  ground,  and  his  assassin  Sylvan,  springing 
from  the  body  as  if  terrified  and  alarmed  at  what  he  had  done,  made  his 
escape  by  the  window.  The  Countess  stood  in  astonishment,  not  knowing 
exactly  whether  she  had  witnessed  a  supernatural  display  of  the  judgment 
of  Heaven,  or  an  instance  of  its  vengeance  by  mere  mortal  means.  Her 
new  attendant  Vexhelia  was  no  less  astonished,  though  her  acquaintance 
with  the  animal  was  considerably  more  intimate. 

“  Lady,^^  she  said,  “  that  gigantic  creature  is  an  animal  of  great  strength, 
resembling  mankind  in  form,  but  huge  in  its  size,  and,  encouraged  by  its 
immense  power,  sometimes  malevolent  in  its  intercourse  with  mortals.  I 
have  heard  the  Varangians  often  talk  of  it  as  belonging  to  the  Imperial 
museum.  It  is  fitting  we  remove  the  body  of  this  unhappy  man,  and  hide 
it  in  a  plot  of  shrubbery  in  the  garden.  It  is  not  likely  that  he  will  be 
missed  to-night,  and  to-morrow  there  will  be  other  matter  astir,  which  will 
probably  prevent  much  enquiry  about  him.^’  The  Countess  Brenhilda  as¬ 
sented,  for  she  was  not  one  of  those  timorous  females  to  whom  the  counte¬ 
nances  of  the  dead  are  objects  of  terror. 

Trusting  to  the  parole  which  she  had  given,  Agelastes  had  permitted  the 
Countess  and  her  attendant  the  freedom  of  his  gardens,  of  that  part  at  least 
adjacent  to  the  pavilion.  They  therefore  were  in  little  risk  of  interruption 
as  they  bore  forth  the  dead  body  between  them,  and  without  much  trouble 
disposed  of  it  in  the  thickest  part  of  one  of  the  bosquets  with  which  the 
garden  was  studded. 

As  they  returned  to  their  place  of  abode  or  confinement,  the  Countess, 
half  speaking  to  herself,  half  addressing  Vexhelia,  said,  “I  am  sorry  for 
this ;  not  that  the  infamous  wretch  did  not  deserve  the  full  punishment  of 
Heaven  coming  upon  him  in  the  very  moment  of  blasphemy  and  infidelity, 
but  because  the  courage  and  truth  of  the  unfortunate  Brenhilda  may  be 
brought  into  suspicion,  as  his  slaughter  took  place  when  he  was  alone  with 
her  and  her  attendant,  and  as  no  one  was  witness  of  the  singular  manner 
in  which  the  old  blasphemer  met  his  end. — Thou  knowest,”  she  added,  ad¬ 
dressing  herself  to  Heaven  —  “  thou !  blessed  Lady  of  the  Broken  Lances, 
the  protectress  both  of  Brenhilda  and  her  husband,  well  knowest,  that 
whatever  faults  may  be  mine,  I  am  free  from  the  slightest  suspicion  of 
treachery ;  and  into  thy  hands  I  put  my  cause,  with  a  perfect  reliance  upon 
thy  wisdom  and  bounty  to  bear  evidence  in  my  favour.^^  So  saying,  they 
returned  to  the  lodge  unseen,  and  with  pious  and  submissive  prayers,  the 
Countess  closed  that  eventful  evening. 


(Clia|itEr  tin  €inintii-liitlr. 

Will  you  hear  of  a  Spanisti  lady, 

How  she  wooed  an  Englishman? 

Garments  gay,  as  rich  as  may  be, 

Deck’d  with  jewels  she  had  on. 

Of  a  comely  countenance  and  grace  was  she, 

And  by  birth  and  parentage  of  high  degree. 

Old  Ballad. 

"VVe  left  Alexius  Comnenus  after  he  had  unloaded  his  conscience  in  the 
ears  of  the  Patriarch,  and  received  from  him  a  faithful  assurance  of  the 
pardon  and  patronage  of  the  national  Church.  He  took  leave  of  the  digni- 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


199 


tary  with  pojno  exulting  exclamations,  so  uncxplicitly  expressed,  however, 
that  it  was  hy  no  moans  easy  to  conceive  the  meaning  of  "what  he  said.  His 
first  enquiry,  when  he  reached  the  Blacquernal,  being  for  his  daughter,  he 
was  directed  to  the  room  encrusted  with  beautifully  carved  marble,  from 
which  she  herself,  and  many  of  her  race,  derived  the  proud  appellation  of 
rorphijrogenita,  or  born  in  the  purple.  Her  countenance  was  clouded  with 
anxiety,  which,  at  the  sight  of  her  father,  broke  out  into  open  and  uncon¬ 
trollable  grief. 

“  Daughter,'^  said  the  Emperor,  with  a  harshness  little  common  to  his 
manner,  and  a  seriousness  wnich  he  sternly  mairitained,  instead  of  sympa¬ 
thizing  with  his  daughter’s  affliction,  “  as  you  would  prevent  the  silly  fool 
with  whom  you  are  connected,  from  displaying  himself  to  the  public  both 
as  an  ungrateful  monster  and  a  traitor,  you  will  not  fail  to  exhort  him,  by 
due  submission,  to  make  his  petition  for  pardon,  accompanied  with  a  full 
confession  of  his  crimes,  or,  by  my  sceptre  and  my  crown,  he  shall  die  the 
death  !  Nor  will  I  pardon  any  who  rushes  upon  his  doom  in  an  open  tone 
of  defiance,  under  such  a  standard  of  rebellion  as  my  ungrateful  son-in-law 
has  hoisted.’^ 

“What  can  you  require  of  me,  father?”  said  the  Princess.  “Can  you 
expect  that  I  am  to  dip  my  own  hands  in  the  blood  of  this  unfortunate 
man ;  or  wilt  thou  seek  a  revenge  yet  more  bloody  than  that  which  was 
exacted  by  the  deities  of  antiquity,  upon  those  criminals  who  offended 
against  their  divine  power  ?” 

“Think  not  so,  my  daughter!”  said  the  Emperor;  “but  rather  believe 
that  thou  hast  the  last  opportunity  afforded  by  my  filial  affection,  of  rescu¬ 
ing,  perhaps  from  death,  that  silly  fool  thy  husband,  who  has  so  richly  de¬ 
served  it.” 

“  My  father,”  said  the  Princess,  “  God  knows  it  is  not  at  your  risk  that  I 
would  wish  to  purchase  the  life  of  Nicephorus ;  but  he  has  been  the  father 
of  my  children,  though  they  are  now  no  more,  and  women  cannot  forget 
that  such  a  tie  has  existed,  even  though  it  has  been  broken  by  fate.  Per¬ 
mit  me  only  to  hope  that  the  unfortunate  culprit  shall  have  an  opportunity 
of  retrieving  his  errors ;  nor  shall  it,  believe  me,  be  my  fault,  if  he  resumes 
those  practices,  treasonable  at  once,  and  unnatural,  by  which  his  life  is  at 
present  endangered.” 

“  Follow  me,  then,  daughter,”  said  the  Emperor,  “  and  know,  that  to  thee 
alone  I  am  about  to  intrust  a  secret,  upon  which  the  safety  of  my  life  and 
crown,  as  well  as  the  pardon  of  my  son-in-law’s  life,  will  be  found  eventually 
to  depend.” 

He  then  assumed  in  haste  the  garment  of  a  slave  of  the  Seraglio,  and 
commanded  his  daughter  to  arrange  her  dress  in  a  more  succinct  form,  and 
to  take  in  her  hand  a  lighted  lamp. 

“Whither  are  we  going,  my  fiither?”  said  Anna  Comnena. 

“  It  matters  not,”  replied  her  father,  “  since  my  destiny  calls  me,  and 
since  thine  ordains  thee  to  be  my  torch-bearer.  Believe  it,  and  record  it, 
if  thou  darest,  in  thy  book,  that  Alexius  Comnenus  does  not,  without  alarm, 
descend  into  those  awful  dungeons  which  his  predecessors  built  for  men, 
even  when  his  intentions  are  innocent,  and  free  from  harm.  Be  silent,  and 
should  we  meet  any  inhabitant  of  those  inferior  regions,  speak  not  a  word 
nor  make  any  observation  upon  his  appearance.” 

Passing  through  the  intricate  apartments  of  the  palace,  they  now  came 
to  that  large  hall  through  which  Hereward  had  passed  on  the  first  night  of 
his  introduction  to  the  place  of  Anna’s  recitation  called  the  Temple  of  the 
Muses.  It  was  constructed,  as  we  have  said,  of  black  marble,  dimly  illu¬ 
minated.  At  the  upper  end  of  the  apartment  was  a  small  altar,  on  which 
was  laid  some  incense,  while  over  the  smoke  was  suspended,  as  if  project¬ 
ing  from  the  wall,  two  imitations  of  human  hands  and  arms,  which  were 
but  imperfectly  seen. 


200 


WAVERLBY  NOVELS. 


At  the  bottom  of  this  hall,  a  small  iron  door  led  to  a  narrow  and  winding 
staircase,  resembling  a  draw-well  in  shape  and  size,  the  steps  of  which  were 
excessively  steep,  and  which  the  Emperor,  after  a  solemn  gesture  to  his 
daughter  commanding  her  attendance,  began  to  descend  with  the  imperfect 
light,  and  by  the  narrow  and  difficult  steps  by  which  those  who  visited  the 
under  regions  of  the  Blacquernal  seemed  to  bid  adieu  to  the  light  of  day. 
Door  after  door  they  passed  in  their  descent,  leading,  it  waa  probable,  to 
different  ranges  of  dungeons,  from  which  was  obscurely  heard  the  stifled 
voice  of  groans  and  sighs,  such  as  attracted  Hereward^s  attention  on  a 
former  occasion.  The  Emperor  took  no  notice  of  these  signs  of  human 
misery,  and  three  stories  or  ranges  of  dungeons  had  been  already  passed, 
ere  the  father  and  daughter  arrived  at  the  lowest  story  of  the  building,  the 
base  of  which  was  the  solid  rock,  roughly  carved,  upon  which  were  erected 
the  side-walls  and  arches  of  solid  but  unpolished  marble. 

“  Here,^'  said  Alexius  Comnenus,  “  all  hope,  all  expectation  takes  fare¬ 
well,  at  the  turn  of  a  hinge  or  the  grating  of  a  lock.  Yet  shall  not  this  be 
always  the  case — the  dead  shall  revive  and  resume  their  right,  and  the  dis¬ 
inherited  of  these  regions  shall  again  prefer  their  claim  to  inhabit  the  upper 
world.  If  I  cannot  entreat  Heaven  to  my  assistance,  be  assured,  my  daugh¬ 
ter,  that  rather  than  be  the  poor  animal  which  I  have  stooped  to  be  thought, 
and  even  to  be  painted  in  thy  history,  I  would  sooner  brave  every  danger 
of  the  multitude  which  now  erect  themselves  betwixt  me  and  safety.  No¬ 
thing  is  resolved  save  that  I  will  live  and  die  an  Emperor :  and  thou,  Anna, 
be  assured,  that  if  there  is  power  in  the  beauty  or  in  the  talents,  of  which 
so  much  has  been  boasted,  that  power  shall  be  this  evening  exercised  to  the 
advantage  of  thy  parent,  from  whom  it  is  derived.'^ 

“  What  is  it  that  you  mean.  Imperial  father  ?  —  Holy  Virgin  !  is  this  the 
promise  you  made  me  to  save  the  life  of  the  unfortunate  Nicephorus 

“  And  so  I  will,^^  said  the  Emperor ;  “  and  I  am  now  about  that  action  of 
benevolence.  But  think  not  I  will  once  more  warm  in  my  bosom  the  house¬ 
hold  snake  which  had  so  nearly  stung  me  to  death.  No,  daughter,  I  have 
provided  for  thee  a  fitting  husband,  in  one  who  is  able  to  maintain  and  de¬ 
fend  the  rights  of  the  Emperor  thy  father ; — and  beware  how  thou  opposes! 
an  obstacle  to  what  is  my  pleasure  !  for  behold  these  walls  of  marble,  though 
unpolished,  and  recollect  it  is  as  possible  to  die  within  the  marble  as  to  be 
born  there.^^ 

The  Princess  Anna  Comnena  was  frightened  at  seeing  her  father  in  a 
state  of  mind  entirely  different  from  any  which  she  had  before  witnessed. 
“  0,  heaven  !  that  my  mother  were  here  I”  she  ejaculated,  in  the  terror  of 
something  she  hardly  knew  what. 

“  Anna,'^  said  the  Emperor,  “your  fears  and  your  screams  are  alike  in 
vain.  I  am  one  of  those,  who,  on  ordinary  occasions,  hardly  nourish  a  wish 
of  my  own,  and  account  myself  obliged  to  those  who,  like  my  wife  and 
daughter,  take  care  to  save  me  all  the  trouble  of  free  judgment.  But  when 
the  vessel  is  among  the  breakers,  and  the  master  is  called  to  the  helm,  be¬ 
lieve  that  no  meaner  hand  shall  be  permitted  to  interfere  with  him,  nor  will 
the  wife  and  daughter,  whom  he  indulged  in  prosperity,  be  allowed  to  thwart 
his  will  while  he  can  yet  call  it  his  own.  Thou  couldst  scarcely  fail  to  under¬ 
stand  that  I  was  almost  prepared  to  have  given  thee,  as  a  mark  of  my  sin¬ 
cerity,  to  yonder  obscure  Varangian,  without  asking  question  of  either  birth 
or  blood.  Thou  mayst  hear  when  I  next  promise  thee  to  a  three  years'  in¬ 
habitant  of  these  vaults,  who  shall  be  Caesar  in  Briennius’s  stead,  if  I  can 
move  him  to  accept  a  princess  for  his  bride,  and  an  imperial  crown  for  his 
inheritance,  in  place  of  a  starving  dungeon." 

“I  tremble  at  your  words,  father,"  said  Anna  Comnena;  “  how  canst 
thou  trust  a  man  who  has  felt  thy  cruelty?  —  How  canst  thou  dream  that 
aught  can  ever  in  sincerity  reconcile  thee  to  one  whom  thou  hast  deprived 
of  his  eyesight?" 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


201 


“  Care  not  for  that/’  said  Alexius ;  “  ho  becomes  mine,  or  he  shall  never 
know  what  it  is  to  be  a^ain  his  own.  —  And  thou,  girl,  mayst  rest  assured 
that,  if  I  will  it,  thou  art  next  day  the  bride  of  rny  present  captive,  or  thou 
retirest  to  the  most  severe  nunnery,  never  again  to  mix  with  society.  Be 
silent,  therefore,  and  await  thy  doom,  as  it  shall  come,  and  hope  not  that 
thy  utmost  endeavours  can  avert  the  current  of  thy  destiny.” 

As  he  concluded  this  singular  dialogue,  in  which  he  had  assumed  a  tone 
to  which  his  daughter  was  a  stranger,  and  before  which  she  trembled,  ho 
passed  on  through  more  than  one  strictly  fastened  door,  while  his  daughter, 
with  a  faltering  step,  illuminated  him  on  the  obscure  road.  At  length  he 
found  admittance  by  another  passage  into  the  cell  in  which  Ursel  was  con¬ 
fined,  and  found  him  reclining  in  hopeless  misery,  —  all  those  expectations 
having  faded  from  his  heart  which  the  Count  of  Paris  had  by  his  indomita¬ 
ble  gallantry  for  a  time  excited.  He  turned  his  sightless  eyes  towards  the 
place  where  he  heard  the  moving  of  bolts  and  the  approach  of  steps. 

“  A  new  feature,”  he  said,  “  in  my  imprisonment  —  a  man  comes  with  a 
heavy  and  determined  step,  and  a  woman  or  a  child  with  one  that  scarcely 
presses  the  floor  ! — is  it  my  death  that  you  bring? — Believe  me,  that  I  have 
lived  long  enough  in  these  dungeons  to  bid  my  doom  welcome.” 

”  It  is  not  thy  death,  noble  Ursel,”  said  the  Emperor,  in  a  voice  some¬ 
what  disguised.  “  Life,  liberty,  whatever  the  world  has  to  give,  is  placed 
by  the  Emperor  Alexius  at  the  feet  of  his  noble  enemy,  and  he  trusts  that 
many  years  of  happiness  and  power,  together  with  the  command  of  a  large 
share  of  the  empire,  will  soon  obliterate  the  recollection  of  the  dungeons  of 
the  Blacquernal.” 

“  It  cannot  be,”  said  Ursel,  with  a  sigh.  “  He  upon  whose  eyes  the  sun 
has  set  even  at  middle  day,  can  have  nothing  left  to  hope  from  the  most 
advantageous  change  of  circumstances.” 

“  You  are  not  entirely  assured  of  that,”  said  the  Emperor ;  “  allow  us  to 
convince  you  that  what  is  intended  towards  you  is  truly  favourable  and 
liberal,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  rewarded  by  finding  that  there  is  more  pos¬ 
sibility  of  amendment  in  your  case,  than  your  first  apprehensions  are  will¬ 
ing  to  receive.  Make  an  efibrt,  and  try  whether  your  eyes  are  not  sensible 
of  the  light  of  the  lamp.” 

”  Do  wdth  me,”  said  Ursel,  “  according  to  your  pleasure ;  I  have  neither 
strength  to  remonstrate,  nor  the  force  of  mind  equal  to  make  me  set  your 
cruelty  at  defiance.  Of  something  like  light  I  am  sensible  ;  but  whether  it 
is  reality  or  illusion,  I  cannot  determine.  If  you  are  come  to  deliver  mo 
from  this  living  sepulchre,  I  pray  God  to  requite  you ;  and  if,  under  such 
deceitful  pretence,  you  mean  to  take  my  life,  I  can  only  commend  my  soul 
to  Heaven,  and  the  vengeance  due  to  my  death  to  Him  who  can  behold  the 
darkest  places  in  which  injustice  can  shroud  itself.” 

So  saying,  and  the  revulsion  of  his  spirits  rendering  him  unable  to  give 
almost  any  other  signs  of  existence,  Ursel  sunk  back  upon  his  seat  of  cap¬ 
tivity,  and  spoke  not  another  word  during  the  time  that  Alexius  disembar¬ 
rassed  him  of  those  chains  which  had  so  long  hung  about  him,  that  they 
almost  seemed  to  make  a  part  of  his  person. 

“  This  is  an  affair  in  which  thy  aid  can  scarce  be  sufficient,  Anna,”  said 
the  Emperor;  “it  would  have  been  well  if  you  and  I  could  have  borne  him 
into  the  open  air  by  our  joint  strength,  for  there  is  little  wisdom  in  showing 
the  secrets  of  this  prison-house  to  those  to  whom  they  are  not  yet  known  ; 
nevertheless,  go,  my  child,  and  at  a  short  distance  from  the  head  of  the 
staircase  which  we  descended,  thou  wilt  find  Edward,  the  bold  and  trusty 
Varangian,  who  on  your  communicating  to  him  my  orders,  will  come  hither 
and  render  his  assistance  ;  and  see  that  you  send  also  the  experienced  leech, 
Douban.” 

Terrified,  half-stifled,  and  half  struck  with  horror,  the  lady  yet  felt  a 
degree  of  relief  from  the  somewhat  milder  tone  in  which  her  father  ad- 


202 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


dressed  her.  With  tottering  steps,  yet  in  some  measure  encouraged  by  the 
tenor  of  her  instructions,  she  ascended  the  staircase  which  yawned  upon 
these  infernal  dungeons.  As  she  approached  the  top,  a  large  and  strong 
figure  threw  its  broad  shadow  between  the  lamp  and  the  opening  of  the  hall. 
Frightened  nearly  to  death  at  the  thoughts  of  becoming  the  wife  of  a  squalid 
wretch  like  Ursel,  a  moment  of  weakness  seized  upon  the  Princess's  mind, 
and,  when  she  considered  the  melancholy  option  which  her  father  had 
placed  before  her,  she  could  not  but  think  that  the  handsome  and  gallant 
Varangian,  who  had  already  rescued  the  royal  family  from  such  imminent 
danger,  was  a  fitter  person  with  whom  to  unite  herself,  if  she  must  needs 
make  a  second  choice,  than  the  singular  and  disgusting  being  whom  her 
father's  policy  had  raked  from  the  bottom  of  the  Blacquernal  dungeons. 

I  will  not  say  of  poor  Anna  Comnena,  who  was  a  timid  but  not  an  un¬ 
feeling  woman,  that  she  would  have  embraced  such  a  proposal,  had  not  the 
life  of  her  present  husband  Nicephorus  Briennius  been  in  extreme  danger ; 
and  it  was  obviously  the  determination  of  the  Emperor,  that  if  he  spared 
him,  it  should  be  on  the  sole  condition  of  unloosing  his  daughter's  hand, 
and  binding  her  to  some  one  of  better  faith,  and  possessed  of  a  greater 
desire  to  prove  an  affectionate  son-in-law.  Neither  did  the  plan  of  adopting 
the  Varangian  as  a  second  husband,  enter  decidedly  into  the  mind  of  the 
Princess.  The  present  was  a  moment  of  danger,  in  which  her  rescue  to  be 
successful  must  be  sudden,  and  perhaps,  if  once  achieved,  the  lady  might 
have  had  an  opportunity  of  freeing  herself  both  from  Ursel  and  the  Varan¬ 
gian,  without  disjoining  either  of  them  from  her  father's  assistance,  or  of 
herself  losing  it.  At  any  rate,  the  surest  means  of  safety  were  to  secure, 
if  possible,  the  young  soldier,  whose  features  and  appearance  were  of  a 
kind  which  rendered  the  task  no  way  disagreeable  to  a  beautiful  woman. 
The  schemes  of  conquest  are  so  natural  to  the  fair  sex,  and  the  whole  idea 
passed  so  quickly  through  Anna  Comnena's  mind,  that  having  first  entered 
while  the  soldier's  shadow  was  interposed  between  her  and  the  lamp,  it  had 
fully  occupied  her  quick  imagination,  when,  with  deep  reverence  and  great 
surprise  at  her  sudden  appearance  on  the  ladder  of  Acheron,  the  Varangian 
advancing,  knelt  down,  and  lent  his  arm  to  the  assistance  of  the  fair  lady, 
in  order  to  help  her  out  of  the  dreary  staircase. 

“  Dearest  Hereward,"  said  the  lady,  with  a  degree  of  intimacy  which 
seemed  unusual,  “  how  much  do  I  rejoice,  in  this  dreadful  night,  to  have 
fallen  under  your  protection !  I  have  been  in  places  which  the  spirit  of 
hell  appears  to  have  contrived  for  the  human  race."  The  alarm  of  the 
Princess,  the  familiarity  of  a  beautiful  woman,  who,  while  in  mortal  fear, 
seeks  refuge,  like  a  frightened  dove,  in  the  bosom  of  the  strong  and  the 
brave,  must  be  the  excuse  of  Anna  Comnena  for  the  tender  epithet  with 
which  she  greeted  Hereward ;  nor,  if  he  had  chosen  to  answer  in  the  same 
tone,  which,  faithful  as  he  was,  might  have  proved  the  case  if  the  meeting 
had  chanced  before  he  saw  Bertha,  would  the  daughter  of  Alexius  have 
been,  to  say  the  truth,  irreconcilably  offended.  Exhausted  as  she  was,  she 
suffered  herself  to  repose  upon  the  broad  breast  and  shoulder  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  ;  nor  did  she  make  an  attempt  to  recover  herself,  although  the  deco¬ 
rum  of  her  sex  and  station  seemed  to  recommend  such  an  exertion.  Ilere- 
ward  was  obliged  himself  to  ask  her,  with  the  unimpassioned  and  reverential 
demeanour  of  a  private  soldier  to  a  princess,  whether  he  ought  to  summon 
her  female  attendants  ?  to  which  she  faintly  uttered  a  negative.  “  No,  no," 
said  she,  “  I  have  a  duty  to  execute  for  my  father,  and  I  must  not  summon 
eye-witnesses  ; — he  knows  me  to  be  in  safety,  Hereward,  since  he  knows  I 
am  with  thee ;  and  if  I  am  a  burden  to  you  in  my  present  state  of  weak¬ 
ness,  I  shall  soon  recover,  if  you  will  set  me  down  upon  the  marble  steps." 

“  Heaven  forbid,  lady,"  said  Hereward,  “  that  I  were  thus  neglectful  of 
your  Highness's  gracious  health !  I  see  your  two  young  ladies,  Astarto 
and  Violante,  are  in  quest  of  you — Permit  me  to  summon  them  hither,  and 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


203 


I  will  keep  watch  upon  you,  if  you  are  unable  to  retire  to  your  chamber, 
where,  rnethinks,  the  present  disorder  of  your  nerves  will  be  most  properly 
treated/^ 

“  Do  as  thou  wilt,  barbarian, said  the  Princess,  rallying  herself,  with  a 
certain  degree  of  pique,  arising  perhaps  from  her  not  thinking  more  dra¬ 
matis  personce  were  appropriate  to  the  scene,  than  the  two  who  were  already 
upon  the  stage.  Then,  as  if  for  the  first  time,  appearing  to  recollect  the 
message  with  which  she  had  been  commissioned,  she  exhorted  the  Yarau- 
gian  to  repair  instantly  to  her  father. 

On  such  occasions,  the  slightest  circumstances  have  their  effect  on  the 
actors.  The  Anglo-Saxon  was  sensible  that  the  Princess  was  somewhat 
offended,  though  whether  she  was  so,  on  account  of  her  being  actually  in 
llereward’s  arms,  or  whether  the  cause  of  her  anger  w\as  the  being  nearly 
discovered  there  by  the  two  young  maidens,  the  sentinel  did  not  presume 
to  guess,  but  departed  for  the  gloomy  vaults  to  join  Alexius,  with  the  never- 
failing  double-edged  axe,  the  bane  of  many  a  Turk,  glittering  upon  his 
shoulder. 

Astarte  and  her  companion  had  been  despatched  by  the  Empress  Irene 
in  search  of  Anna  Comnena,  through  those  apartments  of  the  ])alace  which 
she  was  wont  to  inhabit.  The  daughter  of  Alexius  could  nowhere  be  found, 
although  the  business  on  which  they  were  seeking  her  was  described  by  the 
Empress  as  of  the  most  pressing  nature.  Nothing,  however,  in  a  palace, 
passes  altogether  unespied,  so  that  the  Empress’s  messengers  at  length 
received  information  that  their  mistress  and  the  Emperor  had  been  seen  to 
descend  that  gloomy  access  to  the  dungeons,  which,  by  allusion  to  the  clas¬ 
sical  infernal  regions,  was  termed  the  Pit  of  Acheron.  They  came  thither, 
accordingly,  and  we  have  related  the  consequences.  Ilereward  thought  it 
necessary  to  say  that  her  Imperial  Highness  had  swooned  upon  being  sud¬ 
denly  brought  into  the  upper  air.  The  Princess,  on  the  other  part,  briskly 
shook  off  her  juvenile  attendants,  and  declared  herself  ready  to  proceed  to 
the  chamber  of  her  mother.  The  obeisance  which  she  made  Ilereward  at 
parting,  had  something  in  it  of  haughtiness,  yet  evidently  qualified  by  a 
look  of  friendship  and  regard.  As  she  passed  an  apartment  in  which  some 
of  the  royal  slaves  were  in  waiting,  she  addressed  to  one -of  them,  an  old 
respectable  man,  of  medical  skill,  a  private  and  hurried  order,  desiring  him 
to  go  to  the  assistance  of  her  father,  whom  he  would  find  at  the  bottom  of 
the  staircase  called  the  Pit  of  Acheron,  and  to  take  his  scimitar  along  with 
him.  To  hear,  as  usual,  was  to  obey,  and  Douban,  for  that  was  his  name, 
only  replied  by  that  significant  sign  which  indicates  immediate  acqui¬ 
escence.  In  the  meantime,  Anna  Comnena  herself  hastened  onward  to  her 
mother’s  apartments,  in  which  she  found  the  Empress  alone. 

“  Go  hence,  maidens,”  said  Irene,  “  and  do  not  let  any  one  have  access 
to  these  apartments,  even  if  the  Emperor  himself  should  command  it. 
Shut  the  door,”  she  said,  “Anna  Comnena;  and  if  the  jealousy  of  the 
stronger  sex  do  not  allow  us  the  masculine  privileges  of  bolts  and  bars,  to 
secure  the  insides  of  our  apartments,  let  us  avail  ourselves,  as  quickly  as 
may  be,  of  such  opportunities  as  are  permitted  us  ;  and  remember.  Princess, 
that  however  implicit  your  duty  to  your  father,  it  is  yet  more  so  to  me,  who 
am  of  the  same  sex  with  thyself,  and  may  truly  call  thee,  even  according 
to  the  letter,  blood  of  my  blood,  and  bone  of  my  bone.  Be  assured  thy 
fiither  knows  not,  at  this  moment,  the  feelings  of  a  woman.  Neither  he 
nor  any  man  alive  can  justly  conceive  the  pangs  of  the  heart  which  beats 
under  a  woman’s  robe.  These  men,  Anna,  would  tear  asunder  without 
scruple  the  tenderest  ties  of  affection,  the  whole  structure  of  domestic 
felicity,  in  which  lie  a  woman’s  cares,  her  joy,  her  pain,  her  love,  and  her 
despair.  Trust,  therefore,  to  me,  my  daughter  !  and  believe  me,  I  wdll  at 
once  save  thy  father’s  crown  and  thy  happiness.  The  conduct  of  thy  hus¬ 
band  has  been  wrong,  most  cruelly  wrong ;  but,  Anna,  he  is  a  man  —  and 


204 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


in  calling  him  such,  I  lay  to  his  charge,  as  natural  frailties,  thoughtless 
treachery,  wanton  infidelity,  every  species  of  folly  and  inconsistency,  to 
which  his  race  is  subject.  You  ought  not,  therefore,  to  think  of  his  faults, 
unless  it  be  to  forgive  them.” 

“  Madam,”  said  Anna  Comnena,  “  forgive  me  if  I  remind  you  that  you 
recommend  to  a  princess,  born  in  the  purple  itself,  a  line  of  conduct  which 
would  hardly  become  the  female  who  carries  the  pitcher  for  the  needful 
supply  of  water  to  the  village  well.  All  who  are  around  me  have  been 
taught  to  pay  me  the  obeisance  due  to  my  birth,  and  while  this  Nicephorus 
Briennius  crept  on  his  knees  to  your  daughter’s  hand,  which  you  extended 
towards  him,  he  was  rather  receiving  the  yoke  of  a  mistress  than  accepting 
a  household  alliance  with  a  wife.  lie  has  incurred  his  doom,  without  a 
touch  even  of  that  temptation  which  may  be  pled  by  lesser  culprits  in  his 
condition  ;  and  if  it  is  the  will  of  my  father  that  he  should  die,  or  suffer 
banishment,  or  imprisonment,  for  the  crime  he  has  committed,  it  is  not  the 
business  of  Anna  Comnena  to  interfere,  she  being  the  most  injured  among 
the  imperial  family,  who  have  in  so  many,  and  such  gross  respects,  the  right 
to  complain  of  his  falsehood.” 

“Daughter,”  replied  the  Empress,  “so  far  I  agree  with  you,  that  the 
treason  of  Nicephorus  towards  your  father  and  myself  has  been  in  a  great 
degree  unpardonable  ;  nor  do  I  easily  see  on  what  footing,  save  that  of 
generosity,  his  life  could  be  saved.  But  still  you  are  yourself  in  different 
circumstances  from  me,  and  may,  as  an  affectionate  and  fond  wife,  compare 
the  intimacies  of  your  former  habits  with  the  bloody  change  which  is  so 
soon  to  be  the  consequence  and  the  conclusion  of  his  crimes.  He  is  pos¬ 
sessed  of  that  person  and  of  those  features  which  women  most  readily  recall 
to  their  memory,  whether  alive  or  dead.  Think  what  it  will  cost  you  to 
recollect  that  the  rugged  executioner  received  his  last  salute,  —  that  the 
shapely  neck  had  no  better  repose  than  the  rough  block  —  that  the  tongue, 
the  sound  of  which  you  used  to  prefer  to  the  choicest  instruments  of  music, 
is  silent  in  the  dust !” 

Anna,  who  was  not  insensible  to  the  personal  graces  of  her  husband, 
was  much  affected  by  this  forcible  appeal.  “Why  distress  me  thus, 
mother?”  she  replied  in  a  weeping  accent.  “Did  I  not  feel  as  acutely 
as  you  would  have  me  to  do,  this  moment,  however  awful,  would  be  easily 
borne.  I  had  but  to  think  of  him  as  he  is,  to  contrast  his  personal  quali¬ 
ties  with  those  of  the  mind,  by  which  they  are  more  than  overbalanced, 
and  resign  myself  to  his  deserved  fate  with  unresisting  submission  to  my 
father’s  will.” 

“  And  that,”  said  the  Empress,  “  would  be  to  bind  thee,  by  his  sole  fiat, 
to  some  obscure  wretch,  whose  habits  of  plotting  and  intriguing  had,  by 
some  miserable  chance,  given  him  the  opportunity  of  becoming  of  impor¬ 
tance  to  the  Emperor,  and  who  is,  therefore,  to  be  rewarded  by  the  hand 
of  Anna  Comnena.’^ 

“Do  not  think  so  meanly  of  me,  madam,”  said  the  Princess  —  “I  know, 
as  well  as  ever  Grecian  maiden  did,  how  I  should  free  myself  from  dis¬ 
honour  ;  and,  you  may  trust  me,  you  shall  never  blush  for  your  daughter.” 

“  Tell  me  not  that,”  said  the  Empress,  “  since  I  shall  blush  alike  for  the 
relentless  cruelty  which  gives  up  a  once  beloved  husband  to  an  ignominious 
death,  and  for  the  passion,  for  which  I  want  a  name,  which  would  replace 
him  by  an  obscure  barbarian  from  the  extremity  of  Thule,  or  some  wretch 
escaped  from  the  Blacquernal  dungeons.” 

The  Princess  was  astonished  to  perceive  that  her  mother  was  acquainted 
with  the  purposes,  even  the  most  private,  which  her  father  had  formed 
for  his  governance  during  this  emergency.  She  was  ignorant  that  Alexius 
and  his  royal  consort,  in  other  respects  living  together  with  a  decency 
ever  exemplary  in  people  of  their  rank,  had,  sometimes,  on  interesting 
occasions,  family  debates,  in  which  the  husband,  provoked  by  the  seem- 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS.  205 

ing  unbelief  of  hie  partner,  was  tempted  to  let  her  guess  more  of  his  real 
purposes  than  he  would  have  coolly  imparted  of  his  own  calm  choice. 

The  Princess  was  affected  at  the  anticipation  of  the  death  of  her  husband, 
nor  could  this  have  been  reasonably  supposed  to  be  otherwise  ;  but  she  was 
still  more  hurt  and  affronted  by  her  mother  taking  it  for  granted  that  she 
designed  upon  the  instant  to  replace  the  Caesar  by  an  uncertain,  and  at  all 
events  an  unworthy  successor.  Whatever  considerations  had  operated  to 
make  llereward  her  choice,  their  effect  was  lost  when  the  match  was 
placed  in  this  odious  and  degrading  point  of  view ;  besides  which  is  to  bo 
remembered,  that  women  almost  instinctively  deny  their  first  thoughts  in 
favour  of  a  suitor,  and  seldom  willingly  reveal  them,  unless  time  and  cir¬ 
cumstance  concur  to  favour  them.  She  called  Heaven  therefore  passionately 
to  witness,  while  she  repelled  the  charge. 

“  Bear  witness,’^  she  said,  “  Our  Lady,  Queen  of  Heaven  !  Bear  witness, 
saints  and  martyrs  all,  ye  blessed  ones,  who  are,  more  than  ourselves,  the 
guardians  of  our  mental  purity  !  that  I  know  no  passion  which  I  dare  not 
avow,  and  that  if  Nicephoros’s  life  depended  on  my  entreaty  to  God  and 
men,  all  his  injurious  acts  towards  me  disregarded  and  despised,  it  should 
be  as  long  as  Heaven  gave  to  those  servants  whom  it  snatched  from  the 
earth  without  suft’ering  the  pangs  of  mortality !” 

“  You  have  sworn  boldly,”  said  the  Empress.  “  See,  Anna  Comnena,  that 
you  keep  your  word,  for  believe  me  it  will  be  tried.” 

“  What  will  be  tried,  mother?”  said  the  Princess  ;  “  or  what  have  I  to  do 
to  pronounce  the  doom  of  the  Caesar,  who  is  not  subject  to  my  power?” 

“I  will  show  you,”  said  the  Empress,  gravely ;  and,  leading  her  towards 
a  sort  of  wardrobe,  which  formed  a  closet  in  the  wall,  she  withdrew  a  cur¬ 
tain  which  hung  before  it,  and  placed  before  her  her  unfortunate  husband, 
Nicephorus  Briennius,  half-attired,  with  his  sword  drawn  in  his  hand. 
Looking  upon  him  as  an  enemy,  and  conscious  of  some  schemes  with  respect 
to  him  which  had  passed  through  her  mind  in  the  course  of  these  troubles, 
the  Princess  screamed  faintly,  upon  perceiving  him  so  near  her  with  a 
weapon  in  his  hand. 

“  Be  more  composed,”  said  the  Empress,  “  or  this  wretched  man,  if 
discovered,  falls  no  less  a  victim  to  thy  idle  fears  than  to  thy  baneful 
revenge.” 

Nicephorus  at  this  speech  seemed  to  have  adopted  his  cue,  for,  dropping 
the  point  of  his  sword,  and  falling  on  his  knees  before  the  Princess,  he 
clasped  his  hands  to  entreat  for  mercy. 

“  What  hast  thou  to  ask  from  me?”  said  his  wife,  naturally  assured,  by 
her  husband’s  prostration,  that  the  stronger  force  was  upon  her  own  side — 
“  what  hast  thou  to  ask  from  me,  that  outraged  gratitude,  betrayed  affection, 
the  most  solemn  vows  violated,  and  the  fondest  ties  of  nature  torn  asunder 
like  the  spider’s  broken  web,  will  permit  thee  to  put  in  words  for  very 
shame  ?” 

“  Do  not  suppose,  Anna,”  replied  the  suppliant,  “  that  I  am  at  this  event¬ 
ful  period  of  my  life  to  play  the  hypocrite,  for  the  purpose  of  saving  the 
wretched  remnant  of  a  dishonoured  existence.  I  am  but  desirous  to  part 
in  charity  with  thee,  to  make  my  peace  with  Heaven,  and  to  nourish  the 
last  hope  of  making  my  way,  though  burdened  with  many  crimes,  to  those 
regions  in  which  alone  I  can  find  thy  beauty,  thy  talents,  equalled  at  least, 
if  not  excelled.” 

“You  hear  him,  daughter?”  said  Irene;  “his  boon  is  for  forgiveness 
alone ;  thy  condition  is  the  more  godlike,  since  thou  mayst  unite  the  safety 
of  his  life  with  the  pardon  of  his  offences.” 

“  Thou  art  deceived,  mother,”  answered  Anna.  “  It  is  not  mine  to  pardon 
his  guilt,  far  less  to  remit  his  punishment.  You  have  taught  me  to  think 
of  myself  as  future  ages  shall  know  me ;  what  will  they  say  of  me,  those 
future  ages,  when  I  am  described  as  the  unfeeling  daughter,  who  pardoned 

s 


206  WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 

the  intended  assassin  of  her  father,  because  she  saw  in  him  her  own  un¬ 
faithful  husband?^’ 

“  See  there,’'  said  the  Caesar,  “  is  not  that,  most  serene  Empress,  the  very 
point  of  despair?  and  have  I  not  in  vain  oflered  my  life-blood  to  wipe  out 
the  stain  of  parricide  and  ingratitude?  Have  I  not  also  vindicated  myself 
from  the  most  unpardonable  part  of  the  accusation,  which  charged  me  with 
attempting  the  murder  of  the  godlike  Emperor?  Have  I  not  sworn  by  all 
that  is  sacred  to  man,  that  my  purpose  went  no  farther  than  to  sequestrate 
Alexius  for  a  little  time  from  the  fatigues  of  empire,  and  place  him  where 
he  should  quietly  enjoy  ease  and  tranquillity?  while,  at  the  same  time,  his 
empire  should  be  as  implicitly  regulated  by  himself,  his  sacred  pleasure 
being  transmitted  through  me,  as  in  any  respect,  or  at  any  period,  it  had 
ever  been  ?” 

“  Erring  man  !”  said  the  Princess,  “  hast  thou  approached  so  near  to  the 
footstool  of  Alexius  Comnenus,  and  durst  thou  form  so  false  an  estimate  of 
him,  as  to  conceive  it  possible  that  he  would  consent  to  be  a  mere  puppet 
by  whose  intervention  you  might  have  brought  his  empire  into  submission  ? 
Know  that  the  blood  of  Comnenus  is  not  so  poor ;  my  father  would  have 
resisted  the  treason  in  arms  ;  and  by  the  death  of  thy  benefactor  only  couldst 
thou  have  gratified  the  suggestions  of  thy  criminal  ambition.” 

“Be  such  your  belief,”  said  the  Caesar;  “I  have  said  enough  for  a  life 
which  is  not  and  ought  not  to  be  dear  to  me.  Call  your  guards,  and  let 
them  take  the  life  of  the  unfortunate  Briennius,  since  it  has  become  hateful 
to  his  once  beloved  Anna  Comnena.  Be*  not  afraid  that  any  resistance  of 
mine  shall  render  the  scene  of  my  apprehension  dubious  or  fatal.  Nice¬ 
phoros  Briennius  is  Caesar  no  longer,  and  he  thus  throws  at  the  feet  of  his 
Princess  and  spouse,  the  only  poor  means  which  he  has  of  resisting  the  just 
doom  which  is  therefore  at  her  pleasure  to  pass.” 

He  cast  his  sword  before  the  feet  of  the  Princess,  while  Irene  exclaimed, 
weeping,  or  seeming  to  weep  bitterly,  “  I  have  indeed  read  of  such  scenes ! 
but  could  I  ever  have  thought  that  my  own  daughter  would  have  been  the 
principal  actress  in  one  of  them — could  I  ever  have  thought  that  her  mind, 
admired  by  every  one  as  a  palace  for  the  occupation  of  Apollo  and  the 
Muses,  should  not  have  had  room  enough  for  the  humbler,  but  more  amiable 
virtue  of  feminine  charity  and  compassion,  which  builds  itself  a  nest  in  the 
bosom  of  the  lowest  village  girl?  Do  thy  gifts,  accomplishments,  and 
talents,  spread  hardness  as  well  as  polish  over  thy  heart?  If  so,  a  hundred 
times  better  renounce  them  all,  and  retain  in  their  stead  those  gentle  and 
domestic  virtues  which  are  the  first  honours  of  the  female  heart.  A  woman 
who  is  pitiless,  is  a  worse  monster  than  one  who  is  unsexed  by  any  other 
passion.” 

“What  would  you  have  me  do?”  said  Anna.  “You,  mother,  ought  to 
know  better  than  I,  that  the  life  of  my  father  is  hardly  consistent  with  the 
existence  of  this  bold  and  cruel  man.  0,'I  am  sure  he  still  meditates  his 
purpose  of  conspiracy  !  He  that  could  deceive  a  woman  in  the  manner  he 
has  done  me,  will  not  relinquish  a  plan  which  is  founded  upon  the  death  of 
his  benefactor.” 

“  You  do  me  injustice,  Anna,”  said  Briennius,  starting  up,  and  imprinting 
a  kiss  upon  her  lips  ere  she  was  aware.  “By  this  caress,  the  last  that  will 
pass  between  us,  I  swear,  that  if  in  my  life  I  have  yielded  to  folly,  I  have, 
notwithstanding,  never  been  guilty  of  a  treason  of  the  heart  towards  a 
woman  as  superior  to  the  rest  of  the  female  world  in  talents  and  accomplish¬ 
ments,  as  in  personal  beauty.” 

The  Princess,  much  softened,  shook  her  head,  as  she  replied  —  “Ah, 
Nicephorus  !  —  such  were  once  your  words!  such,  perhaps,  were  then  your 
thoughts !  But  who,  or  what,  shall  now  warrant  to  me  the  veracity  of 
either  ?” 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


207 

“  Those  very  accomplishments,  and  that  very  beauty  itself,’^  replied  Xice- 
phorus. 

“  And  if  more  is  wanting,'^  said  Irene,  “  thy  mother  will  enter  her  secu¬ 
rity  for  him.  Deem  her  not  an  insufficient  pledge  in  this  affair  ;  she  is  thy 
mother,  and  the  wife  of  Alexius  Comnenus,  interested  beyond  all  liuman 
beings  in  the  growth  and  increase  of  the  power  and  dignity  of  her  husband 
and  her  child ;  and  one  who  sees  on  this  occasion  an  opportunity  for  exer- 
cisiiig  generosity,  for  soldering  up  the  breaches  of  the  Imperial  house,  and 
reconstructing  the  frame  of  government  upon  a  basis,  which,  if  there  be 
faith  and  gratitude  in  man,  shall  never  be  again  exposed  to  hazard.'' 

“  To  the  reality  of  that  faith  and  gratitude,  then,"  said  the  Princess,  “we 
must  trust  implicitly,  as  it  is  your  will,  mother;  although  even  my  own 
knowledge  of  the  subject,  both  through  study  and  experience  of  the  world, 
has  called  me  to  observe  the  rashness  of  such  confidence.  But  although  we 
two  may  forgive  Nicephoros’s  errors,  the  Bmperor  is  still  the  person  to  whom 
the  final  reference  must  be  had,  both  as  to  pardon  and  favour." 

“Fear  not  Alexius,"  answered  her  mother;  “he  will  speak  determinedly 
and  decidedly ;  but,  if  he  acts  not  in  the  very  moment  of  forming  the  reso¬ 
lution,  it  is  no  more  to  be  relied  on  than  an  icicle  in  time  of  thaw.  Do  thou 
apprize  me,  if  thou  canst,  what  the  Emperor  is  at  present  doing,  and  take 
my  word  I  will  find  means  to  bring  him  round  to  our  opinion." 

“  ^lust  I  then  betray  secrets  which  my  father  has  intrusted  to  me?"  said 
the  Princess  ;  “  and  to  one  who  has  so  lately  held  the  character  of  his  avowed 
enemy  ?" 

“  Call  it  not  betray,"  said  Irene,  “  since  it  is  written  thou  shalt  betray  no 
one,  least  of  all  thy  father,  and  the  father  of  the  empire.  Yet  again  it  is 
written,  by  the  holy  Luke,  that  men  shall  be  betrayed,  both  by  parents  and 
•  brethren,  and  kinsfolk  and  friends,  and  therefore  surely  also  by  daughters ; 
by  which  I  only  mean  thou  shalt  discover  to  us  thy  father’s  secrets,  so  far 
as  may  enable  us  to  save  the  life  of  thy  husband.  The  necessity  of  the  case 
excuses  whatever  may  be  otherwise  considered  as  irregular." 

“  Be  it  so  then,  mother.  Having  yielded  my  consent  perhaps  too  easily, 
to  snatch  this  malefactor  from  my  father’s  justice,  I  am  sensible  I  must 
secure  his  safety  by  such  means  as  are  in  my  power.  I  left  my  father  at 
the  bottom  of  those  stairs,  called  the  Pit  of  Acheron,  in  the  cell  of  a  blind 
man,  to  whom  he  gave  the  name  of  Ursel." 

“Holy  Mary  !"  exclaimed  the  Empress,  “  thou  hast  named  a  name  which 
has  been  long  unspoken  in  the  open  air." 

“  Has  the  Emperor's  sense  of  his  danger  from  the  living,"  said  the  Caesar, 
“induced  him  to  invoke  the  dead?  —  for  Ursel  has  been  no  living  man  for 
the  space  of  three  years." 

“  It  matters  not,"  said  Anna  Comnena ;  “  I  tell  you  true.  My  father 
even  now  held  conference  with  a  miserable-looking  prisoner,  whom  he  so 
named." 

“It  is  a  danger  the  more,"  said  the  Coesar;  “he  cannot  have  forgotten 
the  zeal  with  which  I  embraced  the  cause  of  the  present  Emperor  against 
his  own;  and  so  soon  as  he  is  at  liberty,  he  will  study  to  avenge  it.  For 
this  we  must  endeavour  to  make  some  provision,  though  it  increases  our 
difficulties. — Sit  down  then,  my  gentle,  my  beneficent  mother ;  and  thou,  my 
wife,  who  hast  preferred  thy  love  for  an  unworthy  husband  to  the  sugges¬ 
tions  of  jealous  passion  and  of  headlong  revenge,  sit  down,  and  let  us  see  in 
what  manner  it  may  be  in  our  power,  consistently  with  your  duty  to  the 
Emperor,  to  bring  our  broken  vessel  securely  into  port." 

He  employed  much  natural  grace  of  manner  in  handing  the  mother  and 
daughter  to  their  seats  ;  and,  taking  his  place  confidentially  between  them, 
all  were  soon  engaged  in  concerting  what  measures  should  be  taken  for  the 
morrow,  not  forgetting  such  as  should  at  once  have  the  effect  of  preserving 
the  Ca3sar'8  life,  and  at  the  same  time  of  securing  the  Grecian  empire 


208 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


against  the  conspiracy  of  which  he  had  been  the  chief  instigator.  Brien- 
nius  ventured  to  hint,  that  perhaps  the  best  way  would  be  to  suffer  the  con¬ 
spiracy  to  proceed  as  originally  intended,  pledging  his  own  faith  that  the 
rights  of  Alexius  should  be  held  inviolate  during  the  struggle ;  but  his 
influence  over  the  Empress  and  her  daughter  did  not  extend  to  obtaining  so 
great  a  trust.  They  plainly  protested  against  permitting  him  to  leave  the 
palace,  or  taking  the  least  share  in  the  confusion  which  to-morrow  was  cer¬ 
tain  to  witness. 

“  You  forget,  noble  ladies,^^  said  the  Caesar,  “  that  my  honour  is  concerned 
in  meeting  the  Count  of  Paris.^^ 

“  Pshaw !  tell  me  not  of  your  honour,  Briennius,^^  said  Anna  Comnena  ; 
“  do  I  not  well  know,  that  although  the  honour  of  the  western  knights  be  a 
species  of  Moloch,  a  flesh-devouring,  blood-quaffing  demon,  yet  that  which 
is  the  god  of  idolatry  to  the  eastern  warriors,  though  equally  loud  and  noisy 
in  the  hall,  is  far  less  implacable  in  the  field  ?  Believe  not  that  I  have  for¬ 
given  great  injuries  and  insults,  in  order  to  take  such  false  coin  as  honour 
in  payment;  your  ingenuity  is  but  poor,  if  you  cannot  devise  some  excuse 
which  will  satisfy  the  Greeks ;  and  in  good  sooth,  Briennius,  to  this  battle 
you  go  not,  whether  for  your  good  or  for  j^our  ill.  Believe  not  that  I  will 
consent  to  your  meeting  either  Count  or  Countess,  whether  in  w^arlike 
combat  or  amorous  parley.  So  you  may  at  a  word  count  upon  remaining 
prisoner  here  until  the  hour  appointed  for  such  gross  folly  be  past  and 
over.^^ 

The  Caesar,  perhaps,  was  not  in  his  heart  angry  that  his  wife’s  pleasure 
was  so  bluntly  and  resolutely  expressed  against  the  intended  combat.  “  If,” 
said  he,  “  you  are  determined  to  take  my  honour  into  your  own  keeping,  I 
am  here  for  the  present  your  prisoner,  nor  have  I  the  means  of  interfering 
with  your  pleasure.  When  once  at  liberty,  the  free  exercise  of  my  valour 
and  my  lance  is  once  more  my  own.” 

“  Be  it  so.  Sir  Paladin,”  said  the  Princess,  very  composedly.  “  I  have 
good  hope  that  neither  of  them  will  involve  you  with  any  of  yon  dare-devils 
of  Paris,  whether  male  or  female,  and  that  we  will  regulate  the  pitch  to 
which  your  courage  soars,  by  the  estimation  of  Greek  philosophy,  and  the 
judgment  of  our  blessed  Lady  of  Mercy,  not  her  of  the  Broken  Lances.” 

At  this  moment  an  authoritative  knock  at  the  door  alarmed  the  consulta¬ 
tion  of  the  Caesar  and  the  ladies. 


(TljtilitBt  tliB  ^raEnttt-lnaiitlj. 

Physician.  Be  comforted,  good  madam ;  the  great  rage, 

You  see  is  cured  in  him :  and  yet  it  is  danger 
To  make  him  even  o’er  the  time  he  has  lost. 

Desire  him  to  go  in:  trouble  him  no  more. 

Till  further  settling. 

King  Lear. 

We  left  the  Emperor  Alexius  Comnenus  at  the  bottom  of  a  subterranean 
vault,  with  a  lamp  expiring,  and  having  charge  of  a  prisoner,  who  seemed 
himself  nearly  reduced  to  the  same  extremity.  Por  the  first  two  or  three 
moments,  he  listened  after  his  daughter’s  retiring  footsteps.  He  grew  im¬ 
patient,  and  began  to  long  for  her  return  before  it  was  possible  she  could 
have  traversed  the  path  betwixt  him  and  the  summit  of  these  gloomy  stairs. 
A  minute  or  two  he  endured  with  patience  the  absence  of  the  assistance 
which  he  had  sent  her  to  summon ;  but  strange  suspicions  began  to  cross 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


209 


his  imagination.  Could  it  be  possible  ?  Had  she  changed  her  purpose  on 
account  of  the  hard  -words  which  he  had  used  towards  her?  Had  she 
resolved  to  leave  her  father  to  his  bite  in  his  hour  of  utmost  need  ?  and  was 
he  to  rely  no  longer  upon  the  assistance  which  he  had  implored  her  to  send  ? 

The  short  time  which  the  Princess  trifled  away  in  a  sort  of  gallantry  with 
the  Varangian  llereward,  was  magnified  tenfold  by  the  impatience  of  the 
Emperor,  who  began  to  think  that  she  was  gone  to  fetch  the  accomplices  of 
the  Caesar  to  assault  their  prince  in  his  defenceless  condition,  and  carry 
into  effect  their  half-disconcerted  conspiracy. 

After  a  considerable  time,  filled  up  with  this  feeling  of  agonizing  uncer¬ 
tainty,  he  began  at  length,  more  composedly,  to  recollect  the  little  chance 
there  was  that  the  Princess  would,  even  for  her  own  sake,  resentful  as  she 
was  in  the  highest  degree  of  her  husband’s  ill  behaviour,  join  her  resources 
to  his,  to  the  destruction  of  one  who  had  so  generally  showed  himself  an 
indulgent  and  affectionate  father.  When  he  had  adopted  this  better  mood, 
a  step  was  heard  upon  the  staircase,  and  after  a  long  and  unequal  descent, 
llereward,  in  his  heavy  armour,  at  length  coolly  arrived  at  the  bottom  of 
the  steps.  Behind  him,  panting  and  trembling,  partly  with  cold  and  partly 
with  terror,  came  Douban,  the  slave  well  skilled  in  medicine. 

“Welcome,  good  Edward  !  Welcome,  Douban  !”  he  said,  “  whose  medical 
skill  is  sufficiently  able  to  counterbalance  the  weight  of  years  which  hang 
upon  him.” 

“Your  Highness  is  gracious,”  said  Douban  —  but  what  he  would  have 
farther  said  was  cut  off  by  a  violent  fit  of  coughing,  the  consequence  of  his 
age,  of  his  feeble  habit,  of  the  damps  of  the  dungeon,  and  the  rugged 
exercise  of  descending  the  long  and  difficult  staircase. 

“  Thou  art  unaccustomed  to  visit  thy  patients  in  so  rough  an  abode,” 
said  Alexius  ;  “  and,  nevertheless,  to  the  damps  of  these  dreary  regions 
state  necessity  obliges  us  to  confine  many,  who  are  no  less  our  beloved 
subjects  in  reality  than  they  are  in  title.” 

The  medical  man  continued  his  cough,  perhaps  as  an  apology  for  not 
giving  that  answer  of  assent,  with  which  his  conscience  did  not  easily  per¬ 
mit  him  to  reply  to  an  observation,  which,  though  stated  by  one  who  should 
know  the  fact,  seemed  not  to  be  in  itself  altogether  likely. 

“  Yes,  my  Douban,”  said  the  Emperor,  “  in  this  strong  case  of  steel  and 
adamant  have  we  found  it  necessary  to  enclose  the  redoubted  Ursel,  whose 
fame  is  spread  through  the  whole  world,  both  for  military  skill,  political 
wisdom,  personal  bravery,  and  other  noble  gifts,  which  we  have  been 
obliged  to  obscure  for  a  time,  in  order  that  we  might,  at  the  fittest  conjunc¬ 
ture,  which  is  now  arrived,  restore  them  to  the  world  in  their  full  lustre. 
Feel  his  pulse,  therefore,  Douban — consider  him  as  one  who  hath  suffered 
severe  confinement,  with  all  its  privations,  and  is  about  to  be  suddenly 
restored  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  life,  and  whatever  renders  life  valuable.” 

“  I  will  do  my  best,”  said  Douban;  “but  your  Majesty  must  consider, 
that  we  work  upon  a  frail  and  exhausted  subject,  whose  health  seems 
already -wellnigh  gone,  and  may  perhaps  vanish  in  an  instant  —  like  this 
pale  and  trembling  light,  whose  precarious  condition  the  life-breath  of  this 
unfortunate  patient  seams  closely  to  resemble.” 

“  Desire,  therefore,  good  Douban,  one  or  two  of  the  mutes  who  serve  in 
the  interior,  and  who  have  repeatedly  been  thy  assistants  in  such  cases — or 
stay — Edward,  thy  motions  will  be  more  speedy ;  do  thou  go  for  the  mutes 
—  make  them  bring  some  kind  of  litter  to  transport  the  patient;  and, 
Douban,  do  thou  superintend  the  whole.  Transport  him  instantly  to  a 
suitable  apartment,  only  taking  care  that  it  be  secret,  and  let  him  enjoy  the 
comforts  of  the  bath,  and  whatever  else  may  tend  to  restore  his  feeble 
animation  —  keeping  in  mind,  that  he  must,  if  possible,  appear  to-morrow 
in  the  field.” 

“  That  will  be  hard,”  said  Douban,  “  after  having  been,  it  would  appear, 
VoL.  XII.— 14  s2 


210 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


subjected  to  such  fare  and  such  usage  as  his  fluctuating  pulse  intimates  but 
too  plainly/^ 

“  'Twas  a  mistake  of  the  dungeon-keeper,  the  inhuman  villain,  who  should 
not  go  without  his  reward, continued  the  Emperor,  “  had  not  Heaven 
already  bestowed  it  by  the  strange  means  of  a  sylvan  man,  or  native  of  the 
woods,  who  yesterday  put  to  death  the  jailor  who  meditated  the  death  of 
his  prisoner — Yes,  my  dear  Douban,  a  private  sentinel  of  our  guards  called 
the  Immortal,  had  wellnigh  annihilated  this  flower  of  our  trust,  whom  for 
a  time  we  were  compelled  to  immure  in  secret.  Then,  indeed,  a  rude  ham¬ 
mer  had  dashed  to  pieces  an  unparalleled  brilliant,  but  the  fates  have 
arrested  such  a  misfortune.^^ 

The  assistance  having  arrived,  the  physician,  who  seemed  more  accus¬ 
tomed  to  act  than  to  speak,  directed  a  bath  to  be  prepared  with  medicated 
herbs,  and  gave  it  as  his  opinion,  that  the  patient  should  not  be  disturbed 
till  to-morrow’s  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens.  Ursel  accordingly  was 
assisted  to  the  bath,  which  was  employed  according  to  the  directions  of  the 
physician  ;  but  without  affording  any  material  symptoms  of  recovery.  From 
thence  he  was  transferred  to  a  cheerful  bedchamber,  opening  by  an  ample 
window  to  one  of  the  terraces  of  the  palace,  which  commanded  an  extensive 
prospect.  These  operations  were  performed  upon  a  frame  so  extremely 
stupified  by  previous  suffering,  so  dead  to  the  usual  sensations  of  existence, 
that  it  was  not  till  the  sensibility  should  be  gradually  restored  by  friction 
of  the  stiffened  limbs,  and  other  means,  that  the  leech  hoped  the  mists  of 
the  intellect  should  at  length  begin  to  clear  away. 

Douban  readily  undertook  to  obey  the  commands  of  the  Emperor,  and 
remained  by  the  bed  of  the  patient  until  the  dawn  of  morning,  ready  to 
support  nature  as  far  as  the  skill  of  leechcraft  admitted. 

From  the  mutes,  much  more  accustomed  to  be  the  executioners  of  the 
Emperor’s  displeasure  than  of  his  humanity,  Douban  selected  one  man  of 
milder  mood,  and  by  Alexius’s  order,  made  him  understand,  that  the  task 
in  which  he  was  engaged  was  to  be  kept  most  strictly  secret,  while  the 
hardened  slave  was  astonished  to  find  that  the  attentions  paid  to  the  sick 
were  to  be  rendered  with  yet  more  mystery  than  the  blood}^  offices  of  death 
and  torture. 

The  passive  patient  received  the  various  acts  of  attention  which  were 
rendered  to'  him  in  silence ;  and  if  not  totally  without  consciousness,  at 
least  without  a  distinct  comprehension  of  their  object.  After  the  soothing 
operation  of  the  bath,  and  the  voluptuous  exchange  of  the  rude  and  musty 
pile  of  straw,  on  which  he  had  stretched  himself  for  years,  for  a  couch  of 
the  softest  down,  Ursel  was  presented  with  a  sedative  draught,  slightly 
tinctured  with  an  opiate.  The  balmy  restorer  of  nature  came  thus  invoked, 
and  the  captive  sunk  into  a  delicious  slumber  long  unknown  to  him,  and 
which  seemed  to  occupy  equally  his  mental  faculties  and  his  bodily  frame, 
while  the  features  were  released  from  their  rigid  tenor,  and  the  posture  of 
the  limbs,  no  longer  disturbed  by  fits  of  cramp,  and  sudden  and  agonizing 
twists  and  throes,  seemed  changed  for  a  placid  state  of  the  most  perfect 
ease  and  tranquillity. 

The  morn  was  already  colouring  the  horizon,  and  the  freshness  of  the 
breeze  of  dawn  had  insinuated  itself  into  the  lofty  halls  of  the  palace  of 
the  Blacquernal,  when  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door  of  the  chamber  awakened 
Douban,  who,  undisturbed  from  the  calm  state  of  his  patient,  had  indulged 
himself  in  a  brief  repose.  The  door  opened,  and  a  figure  appeared,  dis¬ 
guised  in  the  robes  worn  by  an  ojfificer  of  the  palace,  and  concealed,  beneath 
an  artificial  beard  of  great  size,  and  of  a  white  colour,  the  features  of  the 
Emperor  himself.  “  Douban,”  said  Alexius,  “  how  fares  it  with  thy  patient, 
whose  safety  is  this  day  of  such  consequence  to  the  Grecian  state  ?” 

“Well,  my  lord,”  replied  the  physician,  “excellently  well ;  and  if  he  is 
not  now  disturbed,  I  will  wager  whatever  skill  I  possess,  that  nature. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


211 


assisted  by  the  art  of  the  physician,  •will  triumph  over  the  damps  and  the 
unwholesome  air  of  the  impure  dunp;eon.  Only  be  prudent,  my  lord,  and 
let  not  an  untimely  haste  bring  this  Ursel  forward  into  the  contest  ere  ho 
has  arranged  the  disturbed  current  of  his  ideas,  and  recovered,  in  some 
degree,  the  spring  of  his  mind,  and  the  powers  of  his  body/’ 

“  I  will  rule  my  impatience,”  said  the  Emperor,  “  or  rather,  Douban,  I 
will  be  ruled  by  thee.  Thinkest  thou  he  is  awake  ?” 

“  I  am  inclined  to  think  so,”  said  the  leech,  “  but  he  opens  not  his  eyes, 
and  seems  to  me  as  if  he  absolutely  resisted  the  natural  impulse  to  rouse 
himself  and  look  around  him.” 

“  Speak  to  him,”  said  the  Emperor,  “and  let  us  know  what  is  passing 
in  his  mind.” 

“  It  is  at  some  risk,”  replied  the  physician,  “  but  you  shall  be  obeyed. — 
Ursel,”  he  said,  approaching  the  bed  of  his  blind  patient,  and  then,  in  a 
louder  tone,  he  repeated  again,  “  Ursel !  Ursel !” 

“Peace — Hush  1”  muttered  the  patient;  “  disturb  not  the  blest  in  their 
ecstacy — nor  again  recall  the  most  miserable  of  mortals  to  finish  the  draught 
of  bitterness  which  his  fate  had  compelled  him  to  commence.” 

“  Again,  again,”  said  the  Emperor,  aside  to  Douban,  “  try  him  yet  again  ; 
it  is  of  importance  for  me  to  know  in  what  degree  he  possesses  his  senses, 
or  in  what  measure  they  have  disappeared  from  him.” 

“  I  would  not,  however,”  said  the  physician,  “  be  the  rash  and  guilty 
person,  who,  by  an  ill-timed  urgency,  should  produce  a  total  alienation  of 
mind  and  plunge  him  back  either  into  absolute  lunacy,  or  produce  a  stupor 
in  which  he  might  remain  for  a  long  period.” 

“Surely  not,”  replied  the  Emperor;  “my  commands  are  those  of  one 
Christian  to  another,  nor  do  I  wish  them  farther  obeyed  than  as  they  are 
consistent  with  the  laws  of  God  and  man.” 

He  paused  for  a  moment  after  tliis  declaration,  and  yet  but  few  minutes 
had  elapsed  ere  he  again  urged  the  leech  to  pursue  the  interrogation  of  his 
patient.  “If  you  hold  me  not  competent,”  said  Douban,  somewhat  vain 
of  the  trust  necessarily  reposed  in  him,  “to  judge  of  the  treatment  of  my 
patient,  your  Imperial  Highness  must  take  the  risk  and  the  trouble  upon 
yourself.” 

“Marry,  I  shall,”  said  the  Emperor,  “for  the  scruples  of  leeches  are  not 
to  be  indulged,  when  the  fate  of  kingdoms  and  the  lives  of  monarchs  are 
placed  against  them  in  the  scales. — Rouse  thee,  my  noble  Ursel!  hear  a 
voice,  with  which  thy  ears  were  once  well  acquainted,  welcome  thee  back  to 
glory  and  command  !  Look  around  thee,  and  see  how  the  world  smiles  to 
w’elcome  thee  back  from  imprisonment  to  empire!” 

“  Cunning  fiend  !”  said  Ursel,  “  who  usest  the  most  wily  baits  in  order  to 
augment  the  misery  of  the  wretched !  Know,  tempter,  that  I  am  conscious 
of  the  whole  trick  of  the  soothing  images  of  last  night  —  thy  baths  —  thy 
beds  —  and  thy  bowers  of  bliss. — But  sooner  shalt  thou  be  able  to  bring  a 
smile  upon  the  cheek  of  St.  Anthony  the  Eremite,  than  induce  me  to  curl 
mine  after  the  fashion  of  earthly  voluptuaries.” 

“  Try  it,  foolish  man,”  insisted  the  Emperor,  “  and  trust  to  the  evidence 
of  thy  senses  for  the  reality  of  the  pleasures  by  which  thou  art  now  sur¬ 
rounded  ;  or,  if  thou  art  obstinate  in  thy  lack  of  faith,  tarry  as  thou  art  for 
a  single  moment,  and  I  will  bring  with  me  a  being  so  unparalleled  in  her 
loveliness,  that  a  single  glance  of  her  were  worth  the  restoration  of  thine 
eyes,  were  it  only  to  look  upon  her  for  a  moment.”  So  saying  he  left  the 
apartment. 

“  Traitor,”  said  Ursel,  “  and  deceiver  of  old,  bring  no  one  hither !  and 
strive  not,  by  shadowy  and  ideal  forms  of  beauty,  to  increase  the  delusion 
that  gilds  my  prison-house  for  a  moment,  in  order,  doubtless,  to  destroy 
totally  the  spark  of  reason,  and  then  exchange  this  earthly  hell  for  a  dun¬ 
geon  in  the  infernal  regions  themselves.” 


212 


WAVEELEY  NOVELS. 


“  Ills  mind  is  somewhat  shattered/'  mused  the  physician,  “  which  is  often 
the  consequence  of  a  long  solitary  confinement.  I  marvel  much,"  was  his 
farther  thought,  “if  the  Emperor  can  shape  out  any  rational  service  which 
this  man  can  render  him,  after  being  so  long  immured  in  so  horrible  a  dun¬ 
geon. —  Thou  thinkest,  then,"  continued  he,  addressing  the  patient,  “that 
the  seeming  release  of  last  night,  with  its  baths  and  refreshments,  was  only 
a  delusive  dream,  without  any  reality?" 

“Ay  —  what  else?"  answered  Ursel. 

“  And  that  the  arousing  thyself,  as  we  desire  thee  to  do,  would  be  but  a 
resigning  to  a  vain  temptation,  in  order  to  wake  to  more  unhappiness  than 
formerly  ?" 

“  Even  so,"  returned  the  patient. 

“What,  then,  are  thy  thoughts  of  the  Emperor  by  whose  command  thou 
sufiferest  so  severe  a  restraint?" 

Perhaps  Douban  wished  he  had  forborne  this  question,  for,  in  the  very 
moment  when  he  put  it,  the  door  of  the  chamber  opened,  and  the  Emperor 
entered,  with  his  daughter  hanging  upon  his  arm,  dressed  with  simplicity, 
yet  with  becoming  splendour.  She  had  found  time,  it  seems,  to  change  her 
dress  for  a  white  robe,  which  resembled  a  kind  of  mourning,  the  chief 
ornament  of  which  was  a  diamond  chaplet,  of  inestimable  value,  which 
surrounded  and  bound  the  long  sable  tresses,  that  reached  from  her  head  to 
her  waist.  Terrified  almost  to  death,  she  had  boon  surprised  by  her  father 
in  the  company  of  her  husband  the  Caesar,  and  her  mother ;  and  the  same 
thundering  mandate  had  at  once  ordered  Briennius,  in  the  character  of  a 
more  than  suspected  traitor,  under  the  custody  of  a  strong  guard  of  Varan¬ 
gians,  and  commanded  her  to  attend  her  father  to  the  bedchamber  of  Ursel, 
in  which  she  now  stood ;  resolved,  however,  that  she  would  stick  by  the 
sinking  fortunes  of  her  husband,  even  in  the  last  extremity,  yet  no  less 
determined  that  she  would  not  rely  upon  her  own  entreaties  or  remon¬ 
strances,  until  she  should  see  whether  her  father's  interference  was  likely 
to  reassume  a  resolved  and  positive  character.  Hastily  as  the  plans  of 
Alexius  had  been  formed,  and  hastily  as  they  had  been  disconcerted  by 
accident,  there  remained  no  slight  chance  that  he  might  be  forced  to  come 
round  to  the  purpose  on  which  his  wife  and  daughter  had  fixed  their  heart, 
the  forgiveness,  namely,  of  the  guilty  Nicephorus  Briennius.  To  his  aston¬ 
ishment,  and  not  perhaps  greatly  to  his  satisfaction,  he  heard  the  patient 
deeply  engaged  with  the  physician  in  canvassing  his  OAvn  character. 

“  Think  not,"  said  Ursel  in  reply  to  him,  “that  though  I  am  immured  in 
this  dungeon,  and  treated  as  something  worse  than  an  outcast  of  humanity 
—  and  although  I  am,  moreover,  deprived  of  my  eyesight,  the  dearest  gift 
of  Heaven  —  think  not,  I  say,  though  I  suffer  all  this  by  the  cruel  will  of 
Alexius  Comnenus,  that  therefore  I  hold  him  to  be  mine  enemy ;  on  the 
contrary,  it  is  by  his  means  that  the  blinded  and  miserable  prisoner  has 
been  taught  to  seek  a  liberty  far  more  unconstrained  than  this  poor  earth  can 
afford,  and  a  vision  far  more  clear  than  any  Mount  Pisgah  on  this  wretched 
side  of  the  grave  can  give  us  :  Shall  I  therefore  account  the  Emperor  among 
mine  enemies?  He  who  has  taught  me  the  vanity  of  earthly  things  —  the 
nothingness  of  earthly  enjoyments  — and  the  pure  hope  of  a  better  world, 
as  a  certain  exchange  for  the  misery  of  the  present?  No!" 

The  Emperor  had  stood  somewhat  disconcerted  at  the  beginning  of  this 
speech,  but  hearing  it  so  very  unexpectedly  terminate,  as  he  was  willing  to 
suppose,  much  in  his  own  favour,  he  threw  himself  into  an  attitude  which 
was  partly  that  of  a  modest  person  listening  to  his  own  praises,  and  partly 
that  of  a  man  highly  struck  with  the  commendations  heaped  upon  him  by 
a  generous  adversary. 

“  My  friend,"  he  said  aloud,  “  how  truly  do  you  read  my  purpose,  when 
you  suppose  that  the  knowledge  which  men  of  your  disposition  can  extract 
from  evil,  was  all  the  experience  which  I  wished  you  to  derive  from  a  cap- 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


213 


tivity  protracted  by  adverse  circumstances,  far,  very  far,  beyond  my  wishes ! 

Let  me  embrace  the  generous  man  who  knows  so  well  how  to  construe  the 
purpose  of  a  perplexed,  but  still  faithful  friend/^ 

Tlie  patient  raised  himself  in  his  bed. 

“Hold  there  P'  he  said,  “methinks  my  faculties  begin  to  collect  them¬ 
selves.  Yes,'’  he  muttered,  “  that  is  the  treacherous  voice  which  first  bid 
me  welcome  as  a  friend,  and  then  commanded  fiercely  that  I  should  be 
deprived  of  the  sight  of  my  eyes  !  —  Increase  thy  rigour  if  thou  wilt,  Com- 
nenus  —  add,  if  thou  canst,  to  the  torture  of  my  confinement  —  but  since  I 
cannot  see  thy  hypocritical  and  inhuman  features,  spare  me,  in  mercy,  the 
sound  of  a  voice,  more  distressing  to  mine  ear  than  toads,  than  serpents, — 
than  whatever  nature  has  most  offensive  and  disgusting  \” 

This  speech  was  delivered  with  so  much  energy,  that  it  was  in  vain  that 
the  Emperor  strove  to  interrupt  its  tenor ;  although  he  himself,  as  well  as 
Douban  and  his  daughter,  heard  a  great  deal  more  of  the  language  of 
unadorned  and  natural  passion  than  ho  had  counted  upon. 

“  liaise  thy  head,  rash  man,"  he  said,  “  and  charm  thy  tongue,  ere  it  pro¬ 
ceed  in  a  strain  which  may  cost  thee  dear.  Look  at  me,  and  see  if  I  have 
not  reserved  a  reward  capable  of  atoning  for  all  the  evil  which  thy  folly 
may  charge  to  my  account." 

Hitherto  the  prisoner  had  remained  with  his  eyes  obstinately  shut,  re¬ 
garding  the  imperfect  recollection  he  had  of  sights  which  had  been  before 
his  eyes  the  foregoing  evening,  as  the  mere  suggestion  of  a  deluded  imagi¬ 
nation,  if  not  actually  presented  by  some  seducing  spirit.  But  now  w^hen 
his  eyes  fairly  encountered  the  stately  figure  of  the  Emperor,  and  the  grace¬ 
ful  form  of  his  lovely  daughter,  painted  in  the  tender  rays  of  the  morning 
dawn,  he  ejaculated  faintly,  “  I  see  !  — I  see  !"  —  And  with  that  ejaculation 
fell  back  on  the  pillow  in  a  swoon,  which  instantly  found  employment  for 
Douban  and  his  restoratives. 

“  A  most  wonderful  cure  indeed  I"  exclaimed  the  physician  ;  “  and  the 
height  of  my  wishes  would  be  to  possess  such  another  miraculous  resto¬ 
rative." 

“Fool!"  said  the  Emperor;  “canst  thou  not  conceive  that  what  has  never 
been  taken  away  is  restored  with  little  difficulty  ?  He  was  made,"  he  said, 
lowering  his  voice,  “  to  undergo  a  painful  operation,  which  led  him  to  be¬ 
lieve  that  the  organs  of  sight  were  destroyed ;  and  as  light  scarcely  ever 
visited  him,  and  when  it  did,  only  in  doubtful  and  invisible  glimmerings, 
the  prevailing  darkness,  both  physical  and  mental,  that  surrounded  him, 
prevented  him  from  being  sensible  of  the  existence  of  that  precious  faculty, 
of  which  he  imagined  himself  bereft.  Perhaps  thou  wilt  ask  my  reason  for 
inflicting  upon  him  so  strange  a  deception?  —  Simply  it  was,  that  being  by 
it  conceived  incapable  of  reigning,  his  memory  might  pass  out  of  the  minds 
of  the  public,  while,  at  the  same  time,  I  reserved  his  eyesight,  that  in  case 
occasion  should  call,  it  might  be  in  my  power  once  more  to  liberate  him 
from  his  dungeon,  and  employ,  as  I  now  propose  to  do,  his  courage  and 
talents  in  the  service  of  the  empire,  to  counterbalance  those  of  other  con¬ 
spirators." 

“  And  can  your  imperial  Highness,"  said  Douban,  “  hope  that  you  have 
acquired  this  man’s  duty  and  affection  by  the  conduct  you  have  observed 
to  him?^ 

“  I  cannot  tell,"  answered  the  Emperor;  “that  must  be  as  futurity  shall 
determine.  All  I  know  is,  that  it  is  no  fault  of  mine,  if  Ursel  does  not 
reckon  freedom  and  a  long  course  of  Empire  —  perhaps  sanctioned  by  an 
alliance  with  our  own  blood  —  and  the  continued  enjoyment  of  the  precious 
organs  of  eyesight,  of  which  a  less  scrupulous  man  would  have  deprived 
him,  against  a  maimed  and  darkened  existence." 

“  Since  such  is  your  Highness’s  opinion  and  resolution,"  said  Douban,  ' 
“it  is  for  me  to  aid,  and  not  to  counteract  it.  Permit  me,  therefore,  to  pray 


214 


WAVE  Pt  LEY  NOVELS. 


your  Highness  and  the  Princess  to  withdraw,  that  I  may  use  such  remedies 
as  may  confirm  a  mind  which  has  been  so  strangely  shaken,  and  restore  to 
him  fully  the  use  of  those  eyes,  of  which  he  has  been  so  long  deprived/^ 

“  I  am  content,  Douban,^'  said  the  Emperor ;  “  but  take  notice,  Ursel  is 
not  totally  at  liberty  until  he  has  expressed  the  resolution  to  become  actually 
mine.  It  may  behove  both  him  and  thee  to  know,  that  although  there  is 
no  purpose  of  remitting  him  to  the  dungeons  of  the  Blacquernal  palace, 
yet  if  he,  or  any  on  his  part,  should  aspire  to  head  a  party  in  these  feverish 
times,  — by  the  honour  of  a  gentleman,  to  swear  a  Frankish  oath,  he  shall 
find  that  he  is  not  out  of  the  reach  of  the  battle-axes  of  my  Varangians.  I 
trust  to  thee  to  communicate  this  fact,  which  concerns  alike  him  and  all 
who  have  interest  in  his  fortunes. — Come,  daughter,  we  will  withdraw,  and 
leave  the  leech  with  his  patient — Take  notice,  Douban,  it  is  of  importance 
that  you  acquaint  me  the  very  first  moment  when  the  patient  can  hold 
rational  communication  with  me.^^ 

Alexius  and  his  accomplished  daughter  departed  accordingly. 


(Cjinptcr  tliB  €I^tIIllI-(^ig|Itfr. 

Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity, 

Which,  like  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomous, 

B(!ars  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  its  head. 

As  You  Like  It. 

From  a  terraced  roof  of  the  Blacquernal  palace,  accessible  by  a  sash-door, 
which  opened  from  the  bed-chamber  of  Ursel,  there  was  commanded  one  of 
the  most  lovely  and  striking  views  which  the  romantic  neighbourhood  of 
Constantinople  afforded. 

After  suffering  him  to  repose  and  rest  his  agitated  faculties,  it  was  to  this 
place  that  the  physician  led  his  patient ;  for  when  somewhat  composed,  he 
had  of  himself  requested  to  be  permitted  to  verify  the  truth  of  his  restored 
eyesight,  by  looking  out  once  more  upon  the  majestic  face  of  nature. 

On  the  one  hand,  the  scene  which  he  beheld  was  a  masterpiece  of  human 
art.  The  proud  city,  ornamented  with  stately  buildings,  as  became  the 
capital  of  the  world,  showed  a  succession  of  glittering  spires  and  orders  of 
architecture,  some  of  them  chaste  and  simple,  like  those  the  capitals  of 
which  were  borrowed  from  baskets-full  of  acanthus ;  some  deriving  the  flut¬ 
ing  of  their  shafts  from  the  props  made  originally  to  support  the  lances  of 
the  earlier  Greeks  —  forms  simple,  yet  ‘more  graceful  in  their  simplicity, 
than  any  which  human  ingenuity  has  been  able  since  to  invent.  With  the 
most  splendid  specimens  which  ancient  art  could  afford  of  those  strictly 
classical  models  were  associated  those  of  a  later  age,  where  more  modern 
taste  had  endeavoured  at  improvement,  and,  by  mixing  the  various  orders, 
had  produced  such  as  were  either  composite,  or  totally  out  of  rule.  The 
size  of  the  buildings  in  which  they  were  displayed,  however,  procured  them 
respect;  nor  could  even  the  most  perfect  judge  of  architecture  avi^d  being 
struck  by  the  grandeur  of  their  extent  and  effect,  although  hurt  by  the 
incorrectness  of  the  taste  in  which  they  were  executed.  Arches  of  triumph, 
towers,  obelisks,  and  spires,  designed  for  various  purposes,  rose  up  into  the 
air  in  confused  magnificence  ;  while  the  lower  view  was  filled  by  the  streets 
of  the  city,  the  domestic  habitations  forming  long  narrow  alleys,  on  either 
side  of  which  the  houses  arose  to  various  and  unequal  heights,  but,  being 
generally  finished  with  terraced  coverings,  thick  set  with  plants  and  flowers, 
and  fountains,  had,  when  seen  from  an  eminence,  a  more  noble  and  inte- 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS.  215 

resting  aspect  than  is  ever  afforded  by  the  sloping  and  uniform  roofs  of 
streets  in  the  capitals  of  the  north  of  Europe. 

It  has  taken  us  some  time  to  give,  in  words,  the  idea  which  was  at  a 
single  glance  conveyed  to  Ursel,  and  affected  him  at  first  with  great  pain. 
His  eyeballs  had  been  long  strangers  to  that  daily  exercise,  which  teaches 
us  the  habit  of  correcting  the  scenes  as  they  appear  to  our  sight,  by  the 
knowledge  which  we  derive  from  the  use  of  our  other  senses.  Ilis  idea  of 
distance  was  so  confused,  that  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  spires,  turrets,  and 
minarets  which  he  beheld,  were  crowded  forward  upon  his  eyeballs,  and 
almost  touching  them.  With  a  shriek  of  horror,  Ursel  turned  himself  to 
the  further  side,  and  cast  his  eyes  upon  a  different  scene.  Here  also  he 
saw  towers,  steeples,  and  turrets,  but  they  were  those  of  the  churches  and 
public  buildings  beneath  his  feet,  reflected  from  the  dazzling  piece  of  water 
which  formed  the  harbour  of  Constantinople,  and  which,  from  the  abun¬ 
dance  of  wealth  which  it  transported  to  the  city,  was  well  termed  the  Golden 
Horn.  In  one  place,  this  superb  basin  was  lined  with  quays,  where  stately 
dromonds  and  argosies  unloaded  their  wealth,  while,  by  the  shore  of  the 
haven,  galleys,  feluccas,  and  other  small  craft,  idly  flapped  the  singularly 
shaped  and  snow-white  pinions  which  served  them  for  sails.  In  other 
places  the  Golden  Horn  lay  shrouded  in  a  verdant  mantle  of  trees,  where 
the  private  gardens  of  wealthy  or  distinguished  individuals,  or  places  of 
public  recreation,  shot  down  upon  and  were  bounded  by  the  glassy  waters. 

On  the  Bosphorus,  which  might  be  seen  in  the  distance,  the  little  fleet  of 
Tancred  was  lying  in  the  same  station  they  had  gained  during  the  night, 
which  was  fitted  to  command  the  opposite  landing;  this  their  general  had 
preferred  to  a  midnight  descent  upon  Constantinople,  not  knowing  whether, 
so  coming,  they  might  be  received  as  friends  or  enemies.  This  delay,  how¬ 
ever,  had  given  the  Greeks  an  opportunity,  either  by  the  orders  of  Alexius, 
or  the  equally  powerful  mandates  of  some  of  the  conspirators,  to  tow  six 
ships  of  war,  full  of  armed  men,  and  provided  with  the  maritime  offensive 
weapons  peculiar  to  the  Greeks  at  that  period,  which  they  had  moored  so  as 
exactly  to  cover  the  place  where  the  troops  of  Tancred  must  necessarily 
land. 

This  preparation  gave  some  surprise  to  the  valiant  Tancred,  who  did  not 
know  that  such  vessels  had  arrived  in  the  harbour  from  Lemnos  on  the  pre¬ 
ceding  night.  The  undaunted  courage  of  that  prince  was,  however,  in  no 
respect  to  be  shaken  by  the  degree  of  unexpected  danger  with  which  his 
adventure  now  appeared  to  be  attended. 

This  splendid  view,  from  the  description  of  which  we  have  in  some  degree 
digressed,  was  seen  by  the  physician  and  Ursel  from  a  terrace,  the  loftiest 
almost  on  the  palace  of  the  Blacquernal.  To  the  city-ward,  it  was  bounded 
by  a  solid  wall,  of  considerable  height,  giving  a  resting-place  for  the  roof  of  a 
lower  building,  which,  sloping  outward,  broke  to  the  view  the  vast  height 
unobscured  otherwise  save  by  a  high  and  massy  balustrade,  composed  of 
bronze,  which,  to  the  havenward,  sunk  sheer  down  upon  an  uninterrupted 
precipice. 

No  sooner,  therefore,  had  Ursel  turned  his  eyes  that  way,  than,  though 
placed  far  from  the  brink  of  the  terrace,  he  exclaimed,  with  a  shriek,  “  Save 
me  —  save  me!  if  you  are  not  indeed  the  destined  executors  of  the  Em¬ 
peror’s  will.’^ 

“We  are  indeed  such,’^  said  Douban,  “to  save,  and  if  possible  to  bring 
you  to  complete  recovery ;  but  by  no  means  to  do  you  injury,  or  to  suffer  it 
to  be  offered  by  others.’^ 

“  Guard  me  then  from  myself,’’  said  Ursel,  “  and  save  me  from  the  reeling 
and  insane  desire  which  I  feel  to  plunge  myself  into  the  abyss,  to  the  edge 
of  which  you  have  guided  me.” 

“  Such  a  giddy  and  dangerous  temptation  is,”  said  the  physician,  “  com¬ 
mon  to  those  who  have  not  for  a  long  time  looked  down  from  precipitous 


216 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


heights,  and  are  suddenly  brought  to  them.  Nature,  however  bounteous, 
hath  not  provided  for  the  cessation  of  our  faculties  for  years,  and  for  their 
sudden  resumption  in  full  strength  and  vigour.  An  interval,  longer  or 
shorter,  must  needs  intervene.  Can  you  not  believe  this  terrace  a  safe 
station  while  you  have  my  support  and  that  of  this  faithful  slave 

“ Certainly, said  Ursel;  “but  permit  me  to  turn  iny  face  towards  this 
stone  wall,  for  I  cannot  bear  to  look  at  the  flimsy  piece  of  wire,  which  is 
the  only  battlement  of  defence  that  interposes  betwixt  me  and  the  preci¬ 
pice.^^  He  spoke  of  the  bronze  balustrade,  six  feet  high,  and  massive  in 
proportion.  Thus  saying,  and  holding  fast  by  the  physician’s  arm,  Ursel, 
though  himself  a  younger  and  more  able  man,  trembled,  and  moved  his  feet 
as  slowly  as  if  made  of  lead,  until  he  reached  the  sashed-door,  where  stood 
a  kind  of  balcony-seat,  in  which  he  placed  himself. — “  Here,”  he  said,  “  will 
I  remain.” 

“  And  here,”  said  Douban,  “will  I  make  the  communication  of  the  Em¬ 
peror,  which  it  is  necessary  you  should  be  prepared  to  reply  to.  It  places  you, 
you  will  observe,  at  your  own  disposal  for  liberty  or  captivity,  but  it  condi¬ 
tions  for  your  resigning  that  sweet  but  sinful  morsel  termed  revenge,  which, 
I  must  not  conceal  from  you,  chance  appears  willing  to  put  into  your  hand. 
You  know  the  degree  of  rivalry  in  which  you  have  been  held  by  the  Em¬ 
peror,  and  you  know  the  measure  of  evil  you  have  sustained  at  his  hand. 
The  question  is.  Can  you  forgive  what  has  taken  place  ?” 

“  Let  me  wrap  my  head  round  with  my  mantle,”  said  Ursel,  “  to  dispel 
this  dizziness  which  still  oppresses  my  poor  brain,  and  as  soon  as  the  power 
of  recollection  is  granted  me,  you  shall  know  my  sentiments.” 

He  sunk  upon  the  seat,  muffled  in  the  way  which  he  described,  and  after 
a  few  minutes’  reflection,  with  a  trepidation  which  argued  the  patient  still 
to  be  under  the  nervous  feeling  of  extreme  horror  mixed  with  terror,  he 
addressed  Douban  thus :  “  The  operation  of  wrong  and  cruelty,  in  the 
moment  when  they  are  first  inflicted,  excites,  of  course,  the  utmost  resent¬ 
ment  of  the  sufferer ;  nor  is  there,  perhaps,  a  passion  which  lives  so  long  in 
his  bosom  as  the  natural  desire  of  revenge.  If,  then,  during  the  first  month, 
when  I  lay  stretched  upon  my  bed  of  want  and  misery,  you  had  offered  me 
an  opportunity  of  revenge  upon  my  cruel  oppressor,  the  remnant  of  misera¬ 
ble  life  which  remained  to  me  should  have  been  willingly  bestowed  to  pur¬ 
chase  it.  But  a  suffering  of  weeks,  or  even  months,  must  not  be  compared 
in  effect  with  that  of  years.  For  a  short  space  of  endurance,  the  body,  as 
well  as  the  mind,  retains  that  vigorous  habit  which  holds  the  prisoner  still 
connected  with  life,  and  teaches  him  to  thrill  at  the  long-forgotten  chain  of 
hopes,  of  wishes,  of  disappointments,  and  mortifications,  which  affected  his 
former  existence.  But  the  wounds  become  callous  as  they  harden,  and 
other  and  better  feelings  occupy  their  place,  while  they  gradually  die  away 
in  forgetfulness.  The  enjoyments,  the  amusements  of  this  world,  occupy 
no  part  of  his  time  upon  whom  the  gates  of  despair  have  once  closed.  I 
tell  thee,  my  kind  physician,  that  for  a  season,  in  an  insane  attempt  to 
effect  my  liberty,  I  cut  through  a  large  portion  of  the  living  rock.  But 
Heaven  cured  me  of. so  foolish  an  idea;  and  if  I  did  not  actually  come  to 
love  Alexius  Comnenus  —  for  how  could  that  have  been  a  possible  effect  in 
any  rational  state  of  my  intellects? — yet  as  I  became  convinced  of  my  own 
crimes,  sins,  and  follies,  the  more  and  more  I  was  also  persuaded  that 
Alexius  was  but  the  agent  through  whom  Heaven  exercised  a  dearly-pur¬ 
chased  right  of  punishing  me  for  my  manifold  offences  and  transgressions ; 
and  that  it  was  not  therefore  upon  the  Emperor  that  my  resentment  ought 
to  visit  itself.  And  I  can  now  say  to  thee,  that  so  far  as  a  man  who  has 
undergone  so  dreadful  a  change  can  be  supposed  to  know  his  own  mind,  I 
feel  no  desire  either  to  rival  Alexius  in  a  race  for  empire,  or  to  avail  myself 
of  any  of  the  various  proffers  which  he  proposes  to  me  as  the  price  of  with- 


\ 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS.  217 

(Irawinfi;  my  claim.  Let  him  keep  unpurchased  the  crown,  for  which  ho 
has  paid,  in  my  opinion,  a  price  which  it  is  not  worth.^^ 

“  This  is  extraordinary  stoicism,  noble  Ursel,’’  answered  the  physician 
Douban.  “  Am  I  then  to  understand  that  you  reject  the  fair  offers  of  Alexius, 
and  desire,  instead  of  all  which  he  is  willing; — nay,  anxious  to  bestow  —  to 
be  committed  safely  back  to  thy  old  blinded  dungeon  in  the  Blacquernal, 
that  you  may  continue  at  ease  those  pietistic  meditations  which  have  already 
conducted  thee  to  so  extravagant  a  conclusion  V’ 

“  Physician, said  Ursel,  while  a  shuddering  fit  that  affected  his  whole 
body  testified  his  alarm  at  the  alternative  proposed — “one  would  imagine 
thine  own  profession  might  have  taught  thee,  that  no  mere  mortal  man, 
unless  predestined  to  be  a  glorified  saint,  could  ever  prefer  darkness  to  the 
light  of  day;  blindness  itself  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  power  of  sight;  the 
pangs  of  starving  to  competent  sustenance,  or  the  damps  of  a  dungeon  to 
the  free  air  of  God’s  creation.  No ! — it  may  be  virtue  to  do  so,  but  to  such 
a  pitch  mine  does  not  soar.  All  I  require  of  the  Emperor  for  standing  by 
him  with  all  the  power  my  name  can  give  him  at  this  crisis  is,  that  he  will 
provide  for  my  reception  as  a  monk  in  some  of  those  pleasant  and  well 
endowed  seminaries  of  piety,  to  which  his  devotion,  or  his  fears,  have  given 
rise.  Let  me  not  be  again  the  object  of  his  suspicion,  the  operation  of 
which  is  more  dreadful  than  that  of  being  the  object  of  his  hate.  Forgot¬ 
ten  by  power,  as  I  have  myself  lost  the  remembrance  of  those  that  wielded 
it,  let  me  find  my  way  to  the  grave,  unnoticed,  unconstrained,  at  liberty, 
in  possession  of  my  dim  and  disused  organs  of  sight,  and,  above  all,  at 
peace.” 

“  If  such  be  thy  serious  and  earnest  wish,  noble  Ursel,”  said  the  physician, 
“  I  myself  have  no  hesitation  to  warrant  to  thee  the  full  accomplishment  of 
thy  religious  and  moderate  desires.  But,  bethink  thee,  thou  art  once  more 
an  inhabitant  of  the  court,  in  which  thou  mayst  obtain  what  thou  wilt  to-day; 
while  to-morrow,  shouldst  thou  regret  thy  indifference,  it  may  be  thy  utmost 
entreaty  will  not  suffice  to  gain  for  thee  the  slightest  extension  of  thy  present 
conditions.” 

“Be  it  so,”  said  Ursel;  “I  will  then  stipulate  for  another  condition, 
which  indeed  has  only  reference  to  this  day.  I  will  solicit  his  Imperial 
Majesty,  with  all  humility,  to  spare  me  the  pain  of  a  personal  treaty 
between  himself  and  me,  and  that  he  will  be  satisfied  with  the  solemn  assu¬ 
rance  that  I  am  most  willing  to  do  in  his  favour  all  that  he  is  desirous  of 
dictating ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  I  desire  only  the  execution  of  those 
moderate  conditions  of  my  future  aliment  which  I  have  already  told  thee  at 
length.” 

“  But  wherefore,”  said  Douban,  “  shouldst  thou  be  afraid  of  announcing 
to  the  Emperor  thy  disposition  to  an  agreement,  which  cannot  be  esteemed 
otherwise  than  extremely  moderate  on  thy  part  ?  Indeed,  I  fear  the  Emperor 
wdll  insist  on  a  brief  personal  conference.” 

“  I  am  not  ashamed,”  said  Ursel,  “  to  confess  the  truth.  It  is  true,  that 
I  have,  or  think  I  have,  renounced  what  the  Scripture  calls  the  pride  of  life  ; 
but  the  old  Adam  still  lives  within  us,  and  maintains  against  the  better  part 
of  our  nature  an  inextinguishable  quarrel,  easy  to  be  aroused  from  its 
slumber,  but  as  difficult  to  be  again  couched  in  peace.  While  last  night  I 
but  half  understood  that  mine  enemy  was  in  my  presence,  and  while  my 
faculties  performed  but  half  their  duty  in  recalling  his  deceitful  and  hated 
accents,  did  not  my  heart  throb  in  my  bosom  with  all  the  agitation  of  a 
taken  bird,  and  shall  I  again  have  to  enter  into  a  personal  treaty  with  the 
man  who,  be  his  general  conduct  what  it  may,  has  been  the  constant  and 
unprovoked  cause  of  my  unequalled  misery  ?  Douban,  no  !  —  to  listen  to 
his  voice  again,  were  to  hear  an  alarm  sounded  to  every  violent  and  vindic¬ 
tive  passion  of  my  heart ;  and  though,  may  Heaven  so  help  me  as  my  inten- 

T 


218 


WAVER  LEY  NOVELS. 


tions  towards  him  are  upright,  yet  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  listen  to  his 
professions  with  a  chance  of  safety  either  to  him  or  to  myself/^ 

“  If  you  be  so  minded,^'  replied  Douban,  “  I  shall  only  repeat  to  him  your 
stipulation,  and  you  must  swear  to  him  that  you  will  strictly  observe  it. 
Without  this  being  done,  it  must  be  difficult,  or  perhaps  impossible,  to  settle 
the  league  of  which  both  are  desirous.’^ 

“  Amen  V’  said  Ursel ;  “  and  as  I  am  pure  in  my  purpose,  and  resolved  to 
keep  it  to  the  uttermost,  so  may  Heaven  guard  me  from  the  influence  of 
precipitate  revenge,  ancient  grudge,  or  new  quarrel  V’ 

An  authoritative  knock  at  the  door  of  the  sleeping  chamber  was  now 
heard,  and  Ursel,  relieved  by  more  powerful  feelings,  from  the  giddiness  of 
which  he  had  complained,  walked  firmly  into  the  bedroom,  and  seating  him¬ 
self,  waited  with  averted  eyes  the  entrance  of  the  person  who  demanded 
admittance,  and  who  proved  to  be  no  other  than  Alexius  Comnenus. 

The  Emperor  appeared  at  the  door  in  a  warlike  dress,  suited  for  the  deco¬ 
ration  of  a  prince  who  was  to  witness  a  combat  in  the  lists  fought  out  before 
him. 

“  Sage  Douban,^^  he  said,  “  has  our  esteemed  prisoner,  Ursel,  made  his 
choice  between  our  peace  and  enmity 

“  He  hath,  my  lord,^^  replied  the  physician,  “  embraced  the  lot  of  that 
happy  portion  of  mankind,  whose  hearts  and  lives  are  devoted  to  the  service 
of  your  Majesty’s  government.” 

“tie  will  then  this  day,”  continued  the  Emperor,  “render  me  the  oflBce 
of  putting  down  all  those  who  may  pretend  to  abet  insurrection  in  his  name, 
and  under  pretext  of  his  wrongs?” 

“  He  will,  my  lord,”  replied  the  physician,  “  act  to  the  fullest  the  part 
which  you  require.” 

“  And  in  what  way,”  said  the  Emperor,  adopting  his  most  gracious 
tone  of  voice,  “would  our  faithful  Ursel  desire  that  services  like  these, 
rendered  in  the  hour  of  extreme  need,  should  be  acknowledged  by  the 
Emperor?” 

“  Simply,”  answered  Douban,  “  by  saying  nothing  upon  the  subject.  He 
desires  only  that  all  jealousies  between  you  and  him  may  be  henceforth  for¬ 
gotten,  and  that  he  may  be  admitted  into  one  of  your  Highness’s  monastic 
institutions,  with  leave  to  dedicate  the  rest  of  his  life  to  the  worship  of  Heaven 
and  its  saints.” 

“  Hath  he  persuaded  thee  of  this,  Douban?” — said  the  Emperor,  in  a  low 
and  altered  voice.  “  By  Heaven  !  when  I  consider  from  what  prison  he  was 
brought,  and  in  what  guise  he  inhabited  it,  I  cannot  believe  in  this  gall-less 
disposition.  He  must  at  least  speak  to  me  himself,  ere  I  can  believe,  in 
some  degree,  the  transformation  of  the  fiery  Ursel  into  a  being  so  little 
capable  of  feeling  the  ordinary  impulses  of  mankind.” 

“  Hear  me,  Alexius  Comnenus,”  said  the  prisoner ;  “  and  so  may  thine 
own  prayers  to  Heaven  find  access  and  acceptation,  as  thou  believest  the 
words  which  I  speak  to  thee  in  simplicity  of  heart.  If  thine  empire  of 
Greece  were  made  of  coined  gold,  it  would  hold  out  no  bait  for  my  accept¬ 
ance  ;  nor,  I  thank  Heaven,  have  even  the  injuries  I  have  experienced  at  thy 
hand,  cruel  and  extensive  as  they  have  been,  impressed  upon  me  the  slightest 
desire  of  requiting  treachery  with  treachery.  Think  of  me  as  thou  wilt,  so 
thou  seek’st  not  again  to  exchange  words  with  me ;  and  believe  me,  that 
when  thou  hast  put  me  under  the  most  rigid  of  thy  ecclesiastical  foundations, 
the  discipline,  the  fare,  and  the  vigils,  will  be  far  superior  to  the  existence 
falling  to  the  share  of  those  whom  the  King  delights  to  honour,  and  who 
therefore  must  afford  the  King  theii*  society  w^henever  they  are  summoned 
to  do  so.” 

“  It  is  hardly  for  me,”  said  the  physician,  “  to  interpose  in  so  high  a 
matter ;  yet,  as  trusted  both  by  the  noble  Ursel,  and  by  his  Highness  the 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS.  210 

Emperor,  I  have  made  a  brief  abstract  of  these  short  conditions  to  be  kept 
by  the  high  parties  towards  each  other,  sub  crimine  falsi.” 

Tlie  Emperor  protracted  the  intercourse  with  Ursel,  until  he  more  fully 
explained  to  him  the  occasion  which  he  should  have  that  very  day  for  his 
services.  When  they  parted,  Alexius,  with  a  great  show  of  affection,  em¬ 
braced  his  late  prisoner,  while  it  required  all  tl)e  self-command  and  stoicism 
of  Ursel  to  avoid  expressing  in  plain  terms  the  extent  to  which  he  abhorred 
the  person  who  thus  caressed  him. 


(Cjiapttr  tjit 

*  *  •  *  O,  Conspiracy ! 

Sham’st  thou  to  sliow  thy  dangerous  brow  by  night, 

Wlien  evils  are  most  free?  O,  then,  by  day, 

Where  wilt  thou  find  a  cavern  dark  enough 

To  mask  thy  monstrous  visage  ?  Seek  none.  Conspiracy ; 

Hide  it  in  smiles  and  affability ; 

For  if  thou  path  thy  native  semblance  on. 

Not  Erebus  itself  were  dim  enough 
To  hide  thee  from  prevention. 

'  Julius  CiESAB. 

The  important  morning  at  last  arrived,  on  which,  by  the  Imperial  pro¬ 
clamation,  the  combat  between  the  Cmsar  and  Count  Robert  of  Paris  was 
appointed  to  take  place.  This  was  a  circumstance  in  a  great  measure 
foreign  to  the  Grecian  manners,  and  to  which,  therefore,  the  people  annexed 
different  ideas  from  those  which  were  associated  with  the  same  solemn  de¬ 
cision  of  God,  as  the  Latins  called  it,  by  the  Western  nations.  The  conse¬ 
quence  was  a  vague,  but  excessive  agitation  among  the  people,  who  con¬ 
nected  the  extraordinary  strife  which  they  were  to  witness,  with  the  various 
causes  which  had  been  whispered  abroad  as  likely  to  give  occasion  to  some 
general  insurrection  of  a  great  and  terrible  nature. 

By  the  Imperial  order,  regular  lists  had  been  prepared  for  the  combat, 
with  opposite  gates,  or  entrances,  as  was  usual,  for  the  admittance  of  the 
two  champions ;  and  it  was  understood  that  the  appeal  was  to  be  made  to 
the  Divinity  by  each,  according  to  the  forms  prescribed  by  the  Church  of 
which  the  combatants  were  respectively  members.  The  situation  of  these 
lists  was  on  the  side  of  the  shore  adjoining  on  the  west  to  the  continent. 

At  no  great  distance,  the  walls  of  the  city  were  seen,  of  various  architecture, 
composed  of  lime  and  of  stone,  and  furnished  with  no  less  than  four-and- 
twenty  gates,  or  posterns,  five  of  which  regarded  the  land,  and  nineteen  the 
water.  All  this  formed  a  beautiful  prospect,  much  of  which  is  still  visible. 
The  town  itself  is  about  nineteen  miles  in  circumference  ;  and  as  it  is  on  all 
sides  surrounded  with  lofty  cypresses,  its  general  appearance  is  that  of  a 
city  arising  out  of  a  stately  wood  of  these  magnificent  trees,  partly  shroud¬ 
ing  the  pinnacles,  obelisks,  and  minarets,  which  then  marked  the  site  of 
many  noble  Christian  temples ;  but  now,  generally  speaking,  intimate  the 
position  of  as  many  Mahornedan  mosques. 

These  lists,  for  the  convenience  of  spectators,  were  surrounded  on  all  sides  ' 
by  long  rows  of  seats,  sloping  downwards.  In  the  middle  of  these  seats,  and 
exactly  opposite  the  centre  of  the  lists,  was  a  high  throne,  erected  for  the 
Emperor  himself ;  and  which  was  separated  from  the  more  vulgar  galleries 
by  a  circuit  of  wooden  barricades,  which  an  experienced  eye  could  perceive, 
might,  in  case  of  need,  be  made  serviceable  for  purposes  of  defence. 

The  lists  were  sixty  yards  in  length,  by  perhaps  about  forty  in  breadth, 


220 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


and  these  afforded  ample  space  for  the  exercise  of  the  combat,  both  on 
horseback  and  on  foot.  Numerous  bands  of  the  Greek  citizens  began,  with 
the  very  break  of  day,  to  issue  from  the  gates  and  posterns  of  the  city,  to 
examine  and  wonder  at  the  construction  of  the  lists,  pass  their  criticisms 
upon  the  purposes  of  the  peculiar  parts  of  the  fabric,  and  occupy  places,  to 
secure  them  for  the  spectacle.  Shortly  after  arrived  a  large  band  of  those 
soldiers  who  were  called  the  Roman  Immortals.  These  entered  without 
ceremony,  and  placed  themselves  on  either  hand  of  the  wooden  barricade 
which  fenced  the  Emperor’s  seat.  Some  of  them  took  even  a  greater  liberty ; 
for,  affecting  to  be  pressed  against  the  boundary,  there  were  individuals  who 
approached  the  partition  itself,  and  seemed  to  meditate  climbing  over  it,  and 
placing  themselves  on  the  same  side  with  the  Emperor.  Some  old  domestic 
slaves  of  the  household  now  showed  themselves,  as  if  for  the  purpose  of 
preserving  this  sacred  circle  for  Alexius  and  his  court ;  and,  in  proportion 
as  the  Immortals  began  to  show  themselves  encroaching  and  turbulent,  the 
strength  of  the  defenders  of  the  prohibited  precincts  seemed  gradually  to 
increase. 

There  was,  though  scarcely  to  be  observed,  besides  the  grand  access  to  the 
Imperial  seat  from  without,  another  opening  also  from  the  outside,  secured 
by  a  very  strong  door,  by  which  different  persons  received  admission  beneath 
the  seats  destined  for  the  Imperial  party.  These  persons,  by  their  length 
of  limb,  breadth  of  shoulders,  by  the  fur  of  their  cloaks,  and  especially  by 
the  redoubted  battle-axes  which  all  of  them  bore,  appeared  to  be  Varangians; 
but,  although  neither  dressed  in  their  usual  habit  of  pomp,  nor  in  their  more 
effectual  garb  of  war,  still,  when  narrowly  examined,  they  might  be  seen  to 
possess  their  usual  offensive  weapons.  These  men,  entering  in  separate  and 
straggling  parties,  might  be  observed  to  join  the  slaves  of  the  interior  of  the 
palace  in  opposing  the  intrusion  of  the  Immortals  upon  the  seat  of  the  Em¬ 
peror,  and  the  benches  around.  Two  or  three  Immortals,  who  had  actually 
made  good  their  frolic,  and  climbed  over  the  division,  were  flung  back 
again,  very  unceremoniously,  by  the  barbaric  strength  and  sinewy  arms  of 
the  Varangians. 

The  people  around,  and  in  the  adjacent  galleries,  most  of  whom  had  the 
air  of  citizens  in  their  holyday  dresses,  commented  a  good  deal  on  these 
proceedings,  and  were  inclined  strongly  to  make  part  with  the  Immortals. 
“  It  was  a  shame  to  the  Emperor,”  they  said,  “to  encourage' these  British 
barbarians  to  interpose  themselves  by  violence  between  his  person  and  the 
Immortal  cohorts  of  the  city,  who  were  in  some  sort  his  own  children.” 

Stephanos,  the  gymnastic,  whose  bulky  strength  and  stature  rendered 
him  conspicuous  amid  this  party,  said,  without  hesitation,  “  If  there  are  two 
people  here  who  will  join  in  saying  that  the  Immortals  are  unjustly  deprived 
of  their  right  of  guarding  the  Emperor’s  person,  here  is  the  hand  that  shall 
place  them  beside  the  Imperial  chair.” 

“  Not  so,”  quoth  a  centurion  of  the  Immortals,  whom  we  have  already 
introduced  to  our  readers  by  the  name  of  Harpax;  “Not  so,  Stephanos; 
that  happy  time  may  arrive,  but  it  is  not  yet  come,  my  gem  of  the  circus. 
Thou  knowest  that  on  this  occasion  it  is  one  of  these  Counts,  or  western 
Franks,  who  undertakes  the  combat;  and  the  Varangians,  who  call  these 
people  their  enemies,  have  some  reason  to  claim  a  precedency  in  guarding 
the  lists,  which  it  might  not  at  this  moment  be  convenient  to  dispute  with 
them.  Why,  man,  if  thou  wert  half  so  witty  as  thou  art  long,  thou  wouldst 
be  sensible  that  it  were  bad  woodmanship  to  raise  the  hollo  upon  the  game, 
ere  it  had  been  driven  within  compass  of  the  nets.” 

While  the  athlete  rolled  his  huge  grey  eyes  as  if  to  conjure  out  the  sense 
of  this  intimation,  his  little  friend  Lysimachus,  the  artist,  putting  himself 
to  pain  to  stand  upon  his  tiptoe,  and  look  intelligent,  said,  approaching  as 
near  as  he  could  to  Harpax’s  ear,  “  Thou  mayst  trust  me,  gallant  centurion, 
that  this  man  of  mould  and  muscle  shall  neither  start  like  a  babbling  hound 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


001 
X 

on  a  false  scent,  nor  become  mute  and  inert,  when  the  general  signal  is  given. 
But  tell  me,''  said  he,  speaking  very  low,  and  for  that  purpose  mounting  a 
bench,  which  brought  him  on  a  level  with  the  centurion's  ear,  “  would  it 
not  have  been  better  that  a  strong  guard  of  the  valiant  Immortals  had  been 
placed  in  this  wooden  citadel,  to  ensure  the  object  of  the  day  ?" 

“Without  question,"  said  the  centurion,  “it  was  so  meant;  but  these 
strolling  Varangians  have  altered  their  station  of  their  own  authority." 

“Were  it  not  well,"  said  Lysimachus,  “that  you,  who  are  greatly  more 
numerous  than  the  barbarians,  should  begin  a  fray  before  more  of  these 
strangers  arrive  ?" 

“  Content  ye,  friend,"  said  the  centurion,  coldly,  “  we  know  our  time. 
An  attack  commenced  too  early  would  be  worse  than  thrown  away,  nor 
would  an  opportunity  occur  of  executing  our  project  in  the  fitting  time,  if 
an  alarm  were  prematurely  given  at  this  moment." 

So  saying,  he  shufiled  off  among  his  fellow-soldiers,  so  as  to  avoid  suspi¬ 
cious  intercourse  with  such  persons  as  were  only  concerned  with  the  civic 
portion  of  the  conspirators. 

As  the  morning  advanced,  and  the  sun  took  a  higher  station  in  the  hori¬ 
zon,  the  various  persons  whom  curiosity,  or  some  more  decided  motive, 
brought  to  see  the  proposed  combat,  were  seen  streaming  from  different 
parts  of  the  town,  and  rushing  to  occupy  such  accommodation  as  the  circuit 
round  the  lists  afforded  them.  In  their  road  to  the  place  where  preparation 
for  combat  was  made,  they  had  to  ascend  a  sort  of  cape,  which,  in  the  form 
of  a  small  hill,  projected  into  the  Hellespont,  and  the  butt  of  which,  connect¬ 
ing  it  with  the  shore,  afforded  a  considerable  ascent,  and  of  course  a  more 
commanding  view  of  the  strait  between  Europe  and  Asia,  than  either  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  the  city,  or  the  still  lower  ground  upon  which  the  lists 
were  erected.  In  passing  this  height,  the  earlier  visitants  of  the  lists  made 
little  or  no  halt ;  but  after  a  time,  when  it  became  obvious  that  those  who 
had  hurried  forward  to  the  place  of  combat  were  lingering  there  without 
any  object  or  occupation,  they  that  followed  them  in  the  same  route,  with 
natural  curiosity,  paid  a  tribute  to  the  landscape,  bestowing  some  attention 
on  its  beauty,  and  paused  to  see  what  auguries  could  be  collected  from  the 
W’ater,  which  were  likely  to  have  any  concern  in  indicating  the  fate  of  the 
events  that  were  to  take  place.  Some  straggling  seamen  were  the  first  who 
remarked  that  .a  squadron  of  the  Greek  small  craft  (being  that  of  Tancred) 
W'ere  in  the  act  of  making  their  way  from  Asia,  and  threatening  a  descent 
upon  Constantinople. 

“  It  is  strange,"  said  a  person,  by  rank  the  captain  of  a  galley,  “  that 
these  small  vessels,  which  were  ordered  to  return  to  Constantinople  as  soon 
as  they  disembarked  the  Latins,  should  have  remained  so  long  at  Scutari, 
and  should  not  be  rowing  back  to  the  imperial  city  until  this  time,  on  the 
second  day  after  tlieir  departure  from  thence." 

“  I  pray  to  Heaven,"  said  another  of  the  same  profession,  “  that  these 
seamen  may  come  alone.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  their  ensign-staffs,  \)0w- 
sprits,  and  topmasts  were  decorated  with  the  same  ensigns,  or  nearly  the 
same,  with  those  which  the  Latins  displayed  upon  them,  when,  by  the 
Emf)eror’s  order,  they  were  transported  towards  Palestine  ;  so  methinks 
the  voyage  back  again  resembles  that  of  a  fleet  of  merchant  vessels,  who 
have  been  prevented  from  discharging  their  cargo  at  the  place  of  their 
destination." 

“  There  is  little  good,"  said  one  of  the  politicians  whom  we  formerly 
noticed,  “  in  dealing  wdth  such  commodities,  whether  they  are  imported  or 
exported.  Yon  ample  banner  which  streams  over  the  foremost  gaiW,  inti¬ 
mates  the  presence  of  a  chieftain  of  no  small  rank  among  the  Counts, 
whether  it  be  for  valour  or  for  nobility." 

The  seafaring  leader  added,  with  the  voice  of  one  who  hints  alarming 
tidings,  “  They  seem  to  have  got  to  a  point  in  the  straits  as  high  as  will  enable 

T  2 


999 


WAVERLEY  NOVEL  S. 


them  to  run  down  with  the  tide,  and  clear  the  cape  which  we  stand  on,  al¬ 
though  with  what  purpose  they  aim  to  land  so  close  beneath  the  walls  of 
the  city,  he  is  a  wiser  man  than  I  who  pretends  to  determine/^ 

“  Assuredly,'^  returned  his  comrade,  “  the  intention  is  not  a  kind  one. 
The  wealth  of  the  city  has  temptations  to  a  poor  people,  who  only  value  the 
iron  which  they  possess  as  affording  them  the  means  of  procuring  the  gold 
which  they  covet.^^ 

“Ay,  brother,^'  answered  Demetrius  the  politician,  “but  see  you  not, 
lying  at  anchor  within  this  bay  which  is  formed  by  the  cape,  and  at  the 
very  point  where  these  heretics  are  likely  to  be  carried  by  the  tide,  six 
strong  vessels,  having  the  power  of  sending  forth,  not  merely  showers  of 
darts  and  arrows,  but  of  Grecian  fire,  as  it  is  called,  from  their  hollow  decks? 
If  these  Frank  gentry  continue  directing  their  course  upon  the  Imperial 
city,  being,  as  they  are, 

- ‘ propago 

Contemptrix  Superum  sane,  ssevseque  avidissima  caedis 
Et  violenla;’* 

we  shall  speedily  see  a  combat  better  worth  witnessing  than  that  announced 
by  the  great  trumpet  of  the  Varangians.  If  you  love  me,  let  us  sit  down 
here  for  a  moment,  and  see  how  this  matter  is  to  end.^^ 

“  An  excellent  motion,  my  ingenious  friend,^^  said  Lascaris,  which  was 
the  name  of  the  other  citizen  ;  “  but  bethink  you,  shall  we  not  be  in  danger 
from  the  missiles  with  which  the  audacious  Latins  will  not  fail  to  return  the 
Greek  fire,  if,  according  to  your  conjecture,  it  shall  be  poured  upon  them  by 
the  Imperial  squadron 

“  That  is  not  ill  argued,  my  friend,’^  said  Demetrius ;  “  but  know  that 
you  have  to  do  with  a  man  who  has  been  in  such  extremities  before  now ; 
and  if  such  a  discharge  should  open  from  the  sea,  I  would  propose  to  you 
to  step  back  some  fifty  yards  inland,  and  thus  to  interpose  the  very  crest  of 
the  cape  between  us  and  the  discharge  of  missiles ;  a  mere  child  might  thus 
learn  to  face  them  without  any  alarm.’^ 

“You  are  a  wise  man,  neighbour,'^  said  Lascaris,  “and  possess  such  a 
mixture  of  valour  and  knowledge  as  becomes  a  man  whom  a  friend  might 
be  supposed  safely  to  risk  his  life  with.  There  be  those,  for  instance,  who 
cannot  show  jmu  the  slightest  glimpse  of  what  is  going  on,  without  bring¬ 
ing  you  within  peril  of  your  life  ;  whereas  you,  my  worthy  friend  Demetrius, 
beWeen  your  accurate  knowledge  of  military  affairs,  and  your  regard  for 
your  friend,  are  sure  to  show  him  all  that  is  to  be  seen  without  the  least 
risk  to  a  person,  who  is  naturally  unwilling  to  think  of  exposing  himself  to 
injury.  But,  Holy  Virgin  I  what  is  the  meaning  of  that  red  flag  which  the 
Greek  Admiral  has  this  instant  hoisted 

“Why,  you  see,  neighbour,^^  answered  Demetrius,  “yonder  western 
heretic  continues  to  advance  without  minding  the  various  signs  which  our 
Admiral  has  made  to  him  to  desist,  and  now  he  hoists  the  bloody  colours, 
as  if  a  man  should  clench  his  fist  and  say.  If  you  persevere  in  your  uncivil 
intention,  I  will  do  so  and  so.^^ 

“By  St.  Sophia,^^  said  Lascaris,  “and  that  is  giving  him  fair  warning. 
But  what  is  it  the  Imperial  Admiral  is  about  to  do 

“  Run  !  run  !  friend  Lascaris,^^  said  Demetrius,  “  or  you  will  see  more  of 
that  than  perchance  you  have  any  curiosity  for.^^ 

Accordingly,  to  add  the  strength  of  example  to  precept,  Demetrius  him¬ 
self  girt  up  his  loins,  and  retreated  with  the  most  edifying  speed  to  the 
opposite  side  of  the  ridge,  accompanied  by  the  greater  part  of  the  crowd, 
who  had  tarried  there  to  witness  the  contest  which  the  newsmonger  pro¬ 
mised,  and  were  determined  to  take  his  word  for  their  own  safety.  The 
sound  and  sight  which  had  alarmed  Demetrius,  was  the  discharge  of  a  largo 


*  (Jvid,  Met. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


Oc,>Q 

portion  of  Greek  fire,  which  perhaps  may  be  best  compared  to  one  of  those 
immense  Congreve  rockets  of  the  present  day,  which  takes  on  its  shoulders 
a  small  grapnel  or  anchor,  and  proceeds  groaning  through  the  air,  like  a 
fiend  overburdened  by  the  mandate  of  some  inexorable  magician,  and  of 
which  the  operation  was  so  terrifying,  that  the  crews  of  the  vessels  attacked 
by  this  strange  weapon  frequently  forsook  every  means  of  defence,  and  ran 
themselves  ashore.  One  of  the  principal  ingredients  of  this  dreadful  fire 
was  supposed  to  be  naphtha,  or  the  bitumen  which  is  collected  on  the  banks 
of  the  bead  Sea,  and  which,  when  in  a  state  of  ignition,  could  only  be  ex¬ 
tinguished  by  a  very  singular  mixture,  and  which  it  was  not  likely  to  come 
in  contact  with.  It  produced  a  thick  smoke  and  loud  explosion,  and  was 
capable,  says  Gibbon,  of  communicating  its  flames  Muth  equal  vehemence 
in  descent  or  lateral  progress.*  In  sieges,  it  was  poured  from  the  ramparts, 
or  launched  like  our  bombs,  in  red-hot  balls  of  stone  or  iron,  or  it  was 
darted  in  flax  twisted  round  arrows  and  in  javelins.  It  was  considered  as  a 
state  secret  of  the  greatest  importance ;  and  for  wellnigh  four  centuries  it 
was  unknown  to  the  Mahoniedans.  But  at  length  the  composition  was 
discovered  by  the  Saracens,  and  used  by  them  for  repelling  the  crusaders, 
and  overpowering  the  Greeks,  upon  whose  side  it  had  at  one  time  been  the 
most  formidable  implement  of  defence.  Some  exaggeration  we  must  allow 
for  a  barbarous  period ;  but  there  seems  no  doubt  that  the  general  descrip¬ 
tion  of  the  crusader  Joinville  should  be  admitted  as  correct:  —  “It  came 
flying  through  the  air,^'  says  that  good  knight,  “  like  a  winged  dragon, 
about  the  thickness  of  a  hogshead,  with  the  report  of  thunder  and  the  speed 
of  lightning,  and  the  darkness  of  the  night  was  dispelled  by  this  horrible 
illumination.'^ 

Not  only  the  bold  Demetrius  and  his  pupil  Lascaris,  but  all  the  crowd 
whom  they  influenced,  fled  manfully  when  the  commodore  of  the  Greeks 
fired  the  first  discharge ;  and  as  the  other  vessels  in  the  squadron  followed 
his  example,  the  heavens  were  filled  with  the  unusual  and  outrageous  noise, 
while  the  smoke  was  so  thick  as  to  darken  the  very  air.  As  the  fugitives 
passed  the  crest  of  the  hill,  they  saw  the  seaman,  whom  we  formerly  men¬ 
tioned  as  a  spectator,  snugly  reclining  under  cover  of  a  dry  ditch,  where 
he  managed  so  as  to  secure  himself  as  far  as  possible  from  any  accident. 
He  could  not,  however,  omit  breaking  his  jest  on  the  politicians. 

“  What,  ho  !"  he  cried,  “  my  good  friends,"  without  raising  himself  above 
the  counterscarp  of  his  ditch,  “  will  you  not  remain  upon  your  station  long 
enough  to  finish  that  hopeful  lecture  upon  battle  by  sea  and  land,  which 
you  had  so  happy  an  opportunity  of  commencing?  Believe  me,  the  noise 
is  more  alarming  than  hurtful ;  the  fire  is  all  pointed  in  a  direction  opposite 
to  yours,  and  if  one  of  those  dragons  which  you  see  does  happen  to  fly 
landward  instead  of  seaward,  it  is  but  the  mistake  of  some  cabin-boy,  who 
has  used  his  linstock  with  more  willingness  than  ability." 

Demetrius  and  Lascaris  just  heard  enough  of  the  naval  hero's  harangue, 
to  acquaint  them  with  the  new  danger  with  which  they  might  be  assailed 
by  the  possible  misdirection  of  the  weapons,  and,  rushing  down  towards 
the  lists  at  the  head  of  a  crowd  half-desperate  with  fear,  they  hastily  pro¬ 
pagated  the  appalling  news,  that  the  Latins  were  coming  back  from  Asia 
with  the  purpose  of  landing  in  arms,  pillaging,  and  burning  the  city. 

The  uproar,  in  the  meantime,  of  this  unexpected  occurrence,  was  such  as 
altogether  to  vindicate,  in  public  opinion,  the  reported  cause,  however  ex¬ 
aggerated.  The  thunder  of  the  Greek  fire  came  successively,  one  hard  upon 
the  other,  and  each,  in  its  turn,  spread  a  blot  of  black  smoke  upon  the  face 
of  the  landscape,  which,  thickened  by  so  many  successive  clouds,  seemed 
at  last,  like  that  raised  by  a  sustained  fire  of  modern  artillery  to  overshadow 
the  whole  horizon. 


*  For  u  full  account  of  the  Greek  fire,  see  Gibbon,  chapter  63. 


224 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


The  small  squadron  of  Tancred  were  completely  hid  from  view  in  the 
surging  volumes  of  darkness,  which  the  breath  of  the  weapons  of  the  enemy 
had  spread  around  him ;  and  it  seemed  by  a  red  light,  which  began  to  show 
itself  among  the  thickest  of  the  veil  of  darkness,  that  one  of  the  flotilla  at 
least  had  caught  fire.  Yet  the  Latins  resisted,  with  an  obstinacy  worthy  of 
their  own  courage,  and  the  fame  of  their  celebrated  leader.  Some  advan¬ 
tage  they  had,  on  account  of  their  small  size,  and  their  lowness  in  the  water, 
as  well  as  the  clouded  state  of  the  atmosphere,  which  rendered  them  difficult 
marks  for  the  fire  of  the  Greeks. 

To  increase  these  advantages,  Tancred,  as  well  by  boats  as  by  the  kind 
of  rude  signals  made  use  of  at  the  period,  dispersed  orders  to  his  fleet,  that 
each  bark,  disregarding  the  fate  of  the  others,  should  press  forward  indivi¬ 
dually,  and  that  the  men  from  each  should  be  put  on  shore  wheresoever  and 
howsoever  they  could  effect  that  manoeuvre.  Tancred  himself  set  a  noble 
example  ;  he  was  on  board  a  stout  vessel,  fenced  in  some  degree  against  the 
efiect  of  the  Greek  fire  by  being  in  a  great  measure  covered  with  raw  hides, 
which  hides  had  also  been  recently  steeped  in  water.  This  vessel  contained 
upwards  of  a  hundred  valiant  warriors,  several  of  them  of  knightly  order, 
who  had  all  night  toiled  at  the  humble  labours  of  the  oar,  and  now  in  the 
morning  applied  their  chivalrous  hands  to  the  arblast  and  to  the  bow,  which 
were  in  general  accounted  the  weapons  of  persons  of  a  lower  rank.  Thus 
armed,  and  thus  manned.  Prince  Tancred  bestowed  upon  his  bark  the  full 
velocity  which  wind,  and  tide,  and  oar,  could  enable  her  to  obtain,  and 
placing  her  in  the  situation  to  profit  by  them  as'  much  as  his  maritime  skill 
could  direct,  he  drove  with  the  speed  of  lightning  among  the  vessels  of 
Lemnos,  plying  on  either  side,  bows,  crossbows,  javelins,  and  military 
missiles  of  every  kind,  with  the  greater  advantage  that  the  Greeks,  trusting 
to  their  artificial  fire,  had  omitted  arming  themselves  with  other  weapons ; 
so  that  when  the  valiant  Crusader  bore  down  on  them  with  so  much  fury, 
repaying  the  terrors  of  their  fire  with  a  storm  of  bolts  and  arrows  no  less 
formidable,  they  began  to  feel  that  their  own  advantage  was  much  less  than 
they  had  supposed,  and  that,  like  most  other  dangers,  the  maritime  fire  of 
the  Greeks,  when  undauntedly  confronted,  lost  at  least  one-half  of  its  ter¬ 
rors.  The  Grecian  sailors,  too,  when  they  observed  the  vessels  approach  so 
near,  filled  with  the  steel-clad  Latins,  began  to  shrink  from  a  contest  to  be 
maintained  hand  to  hand  with  so  terrible  an  enemy. 

By  degrees,  smoke  began  to  issue  from  the  sides  of  the  great  Grecian 
argosy,  and  the  voice  of  Tancred  announced  to  his  soldiers  that  the  Grecian 
AdmiraFs  vessel  had  taken  fire,  owing  to  negligence  in  the  management  of 
the  means  of  destruction  she  possessed,  and  that  all  they  had  now  to  do 
was  to  maintain  such  a  distance  as  to  avoid  sharing  her  fate.  Sparkles  and 
flashes  of  flame  were  next  seen  leaping  from  place  to  place  on  board  of  the 
great  hulk,  as  if  the  element  had  had  the  sense  and  purpose  of  spreading 
wider  the  consternation,  and  disabling  the  few  who  still  paid  attention  to 
the  commands  of  their  Admiral,  and  endeavoured  to  extinguish  the  fire. 
The  consciousness  of  the  combustible  nature  of  the  freight,  began  to  add 
despair  to  terror ;  from  the  boltsprit,  the  rigging,  the  yards,  the  sides,  and 
every  part  of  the  vessel,  the  unfortunate  crew  were  seen  dropping  them¬ 
selves,  to  exchange  for  the  most  part  a  watery  death  for  one  by  the  more 
dreadful  agency  of  fire.  The  crew  of  Tancred’s  bark,  ceasing,  by  that 
generous  princess  commands,  to  offer  any  additional  annoyance  to  an  enemy 
who  was  at  once  threatened  by  the  perils  of  the  ocean  and  of  conflagration, 
ran  their  vessel  ashore  in  a  smooth  part  of  the  bay,  and  jumping  into  the 
shallow  sea,  made  the  land  without  difficulty ;  many  of  their  steeds  being, 
by  the  exertions  of  the  owners,  and  the  docility  of  the  animals,  brought 
ashore  at  the  same  time  with  their  masters.  Their  commander  lost  no  time 
in  forming  their  serried  ranks  into  a  phalanx  of  lancers,  few  indeed  at  first, 
but  perpetually  increasing  as  ship  after  ship  of  the  little  flotilla  ran  ashore, 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


225 


or,  having  more  deliberately  moored  their  barks,  landed  their  men,  and 
joined  their  companions. 

The  cloud  which  had  been  raised  by  the  conflict  was  now  driven  to  lee- 
M'ard  before  the  wind,  and  the  strait  exhibited  only  the  relics  of  the  combat. 
Here  tossed  upon  the  billows  the  scattered  and  broken  remains  of  one  or 
two  of  the  Latin  vessels  which  had  been  burnt  at  the  commencement  of  the 
combat,  though  their  crews,  by  the  exertions  of  their  comrades,  had  in 
general  been  saved.  Lower  down  were  seen  the  remaining  five  vessels  of 
the  Lemnos  squadron,  holding  a  disorderly  and  difiicult  retreat,  with  the 
purpose  of  gaining  the  harbour  of  Constantinople.  In  the  place  so  late  the 
scene  of  combat,  lay  moored  the  hulk  of  the  Grecian  Admiral,  burnt  to  the 
water's  edge,  and  still  sending  forth  a  black  smoke  from  its  scathed'  beams 
and  planks.  The  flotilla  of  Tancred,  busied  in  discharging  its  troops,  lay 
irregularly  scattered  along  the  bay,  the  men  making  ashore  as  they  could, 
and  taking  their  course  to  join  the  standard  of  their  leader.  Various  black 
substances  floated  on  the  surface  of  the  water,  nearer,  or  more  distant  to 
the  shore ;  some  proved  to  be  the  wreck  of  the  vessels  which  had  been 
destroyed,  and  others,  more  ominous  still,  the  lifeless  bodies  of  mariners 
who  had  fallen  in  the  conflict. 

The  standard  had  been  borne  ashore  by  the  Prince's  favourite  page, 
Ernest  of  Apulia,  so  soon  as  the  keel  of  Tancred's  galley  had  grazed  upon 
the  sand.  It  was  then  pitched  on  the  top  of  that  elevated  cape  between 
Constantinople  and  the  lists,  where  Lascaris,  Demetrius,  and  other  gossips, 
had  held  their  station  at  the  commencement  of  the  engagement,  but  from 
which  all  had  fled,  between  the  mingled  dread  of  the  Greek  fire  and  the 
missiles  of  the  Latin  crusaders. 


(f|iapttr  tliE  €j]irtiitli. 

Sheathed  in  complete  armour,  and  supporting  with  his  right  hand  the 
standard  of  his  fathers,  Tancred  remained  with  his  handful  of  warriors  like 
so  many  statues  of  steel,  expecting  some  sort  of  attack  from  the  Grecian 
party  which  had  occupied  the  lists,  or  from  the  numbers  whom  the  city 
gates  began  now  to  pour  forth  —  soldiers  some  of  them,  and  others  citizens, 
many  of  whom  were  arrayed  as  if  for  conflict.  These  persons,  alarmed  by 
the  various  accounts  which  were  given  of  the  combatants,  and  the  progress 
of  the  fight,  rushed  towards  the  standard  of  Prince  Tancred,  with  the  in¬ 
tention  of  beating  it  to  the  earth,  and  dispersing  the  guards  who  owed  it 
homage  and  defence.  But  if  the  reader  shall  have  happened  to  have  ridden 
at  any  time  through  a  pastoral  country,  with  a  dog  of  a  noble  race  following 
him,  he  must  have  remarked,  in  the  deference  ultimately  paid  to  the  high¬ 
bred  animal  by  the  shepherd’s  cur  as  he  crosses  the  lonely  glen,  of  which 
the  latter  conceives  himself  the  lord  and  guardian,  something  very  similar 
to  the  demeanour  of  the  incensed  Greeks,  when  they  approached  near  to  the 
little  band  of  Franks.  At  the  first  symptom  of  the  intrusion  of  a  stranger, 
the  dog  of  the  shepherd  starts  from  his  slumbers,  and  rushes  towards  the 
noble  intruder  with  a  clamorous  declaration  of  war ;  but  when  the  diminu¬ 
tion  of  distance  between  them  shows  to  the  aggressor  the  size  and  strength 
of  his  opponent,  he  becomes  like  a  cruiser,  who,  in  a  chase,  has,  to  his 
surprise  and  alarm,  found  two  tier  of  guns  opposed  to  him  instead  of  one. 
lie  halts  —  suspends  his  clamorous  yelping,  and,  in  fine,  ingloriously 
VoL.  XII.— 15 


22G  WAVER  LEY  NOVELS. 

retreats  to  his  master,  with  all  the  dishonourable  marks  of  positively  de¬ 
clining  the  combat. 

It  was  in  this  manner  that  the  troops  of  the  noisy  Greeks,  with  much 
hallooing  and  many  a  boastful  shout,  hastened  both  from  the  town  and 
from  the  lists,  with  the  apparent  intention  of  sweeping  from  the  field  the 
few  companions  of  Tancred.  As  they  advanced,  however,  within  the  power 
of  remarking  the  calm  and  regular  order  of  those  men  who  had  landed, 
and  arranged  themselves  under  this  noble  chieftain’s  banner,  their  minds 
were  altogether  changed  as  to  the  resolution  of  instant  combat ;  their 
advance  became  an  uncertain  and  staggering  gait,  their  heads  were  more 
frequently  turned  back  to  the  point  from  which  they  came,  than  towards 
the  enemy ;  and  their  desire  to  provoke  an  instant  scufile  vanished  totally, 
when  there  did  not  appear  the  least  symptom  that  their  opponents  cared 
about  the  matter. 

It  added  to  the  extreme  confidence  with  which  the  Latins  kept  their 
ground,  that  they  were  receiving  frequent,  though  small  reinforcements 
from  their  comrades,  who  were  landing  by  detachments  all  along  the  beach; 
and  that,  in  the  course  of  a  short  hour,  their  amount  had  been  raised,  on 
horseback  and  foot,  to  a  number,  allowing  for  a  few  casualties,  not  much 
less  than  that  which  set  sail  from  Scutari. 

Another  reason  why  the  Latins  remained  unassailed,  was  certainly  the 
indisposition  of  the  two  principal  armed  parties  on  shore  to  enter  into  a 
quarrel  with  them.  The  guards  of  every  kind,  who  were  faithful  to  the 
Emperor,  more  especially  the  Varangians,  had  their  orders  to  remain  firm 
at  their  posts,  some  in  the  lists,  and  others  at  various  places  of  rendezvous 
in  Constantinople,  where  their  presence  was  necessary  to  prevent  the  effects 
of  the  sudden  insurrection  which  Alexius  knew  to  be  meditated  against  him. 
These,  therefore,  made  no  hostile  demonstration  towards  the  band  of  Latins, 
nor  was  it  the  purpose  of  the  Emperor  they  should  do  so. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  greater  part  of  the  Immortal  Guards,  and  those 
citizens  who  were  prepared  to  play  a  part  in  the  conspiracy,  had  been  im¬ 
pressed  by  the  agents  of  the  deceased  Agelastes  with  thq  opinion,,  that  this 
band  of  Latins,  commanded  by  Tancred,  the  relative  of  Bohemond,  had 
been  despatched  by  the  latter  to  their  assistance.  These  men,  therefore, 
stood  still,  and  made  no  attempt  to  guide  or  direct  the  popular  efforts  of 
such  as  inclined  to  attack  these  unexpected  visitors ;  in  which  purpose, 
therefore,  no  very  great  party  were  united,  while  the  majority  were  willing 
enough  to  find  an  apology  for  remaining  quiet. 

In  the  meantime,  the  Emperor,  from  his  palace  of  Blacquernal,  observed 
what  passed  upon  the  straits,  and  beheld  his  navy  from  Lemnos  totally 
foiled  in  their  attempt,  by  means  of  the  Greek  fire,  to  check  the  intended 
passage  of  Tancred  and  his  men.  He  had  no  sooner  seen  the  leading  ship 
of  the  squadron  begin  to  beacon  the  darkness  with  its  own  fire,  than  the 
Emperor  formed  a  secret  resolution  to  disown  the  unfortunate  Admiral,  and 
make  peace  with  the  Latins,  if  that  should  be  absolutely  necessary,  by 
sending  them  his  head.  He  had  hardly,  therefore,  seen  the  flames  burst 
forth,  and  the  rest  of  the  vessels  retreat  from  their  moorings,  than  in  his 
own  mind,  the  doom  of  the  unfortunate  Phraortes,  for  such  was  the  name 
of  the  Admiral,  was  signed  and  sealed. 

Achilles  Tatius,  at  the  same  instant,  determining  to  keep  a  close  eye  upon 
the  Emperor  at  this  important  crisis,  came  precipitately  into  the  palace, 
with  an  appearance  of  great  alarm. 

“  My  Lord !  —  my  Imperial  Lord  !  I  am  unhappy  to  be  the  messenger  of 
such  unlucky  news ;  but  the  Latins  have  in  great  numbers  succeeded  in 
crossing  the  strait  from  Scutari.  The  Lemnos  squadron  endeavoured  to 
stop  them,  as  was  last  night  determined  upon  in  the  Imperial  Council  of 
War.  By  a  heavy  discharge  of  the  Greek  fire,  one  or  two  of  the  crusaders’ 
vessels  were  consumed,  but  by  far  the  greater  number  of  them  pushed  on 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


227 


their  course,  burnt  the  leading  ship  of  the  unfortunate  Phraortes,  and  it  is 
strongly  reported  he  has  himself  perished,  -svith  almost  all  his  men.  The 
rest  have  cut  their  cables,  and  abandoned  the  defence  of  the  passage  of  the 
Hellespont.’^ 

“And  you,  Achilles  Tatius,”  said  the  Emperor,  “  with  what  purpose  is  it 
that  you  now  bring  me  this  melancholy  news,  at  a  period  so  late,  when  I 
cannot  amend  the  consequences !” 

“  Under  favour,  most  gracious  Emperor,”  replied  the  conspirator,  not 
without  colouring  and  stammering,  “  such  was  not  my  intention  —  I  had 
hoped  to  submit  a  plan,  by  which  I  might  easily  have  prepared  the  way  for 
correcting  this  little  error.” 

“Well,  your  plan,  sir?”  said  the  Emperor,  dryly. 

“  With  your  sacred  Majesty’s  leave,”  said  the  Acolyte,  “  I  would  myself 
have  undertaken  instantly  to  lead  against  this  Tancred  and  his  Italians  the 
battle-axes  of  the  faithful  Varangian  guard,  who  will  make  no  more  account 
of  the  small  number  of  Franks  w'ho  have  come  ashore,  than  the  farmer 
holds  of  the  hordes  of  rats  and  mice,  and  such  like  mischievous  vermin, 
who  have  harboured  in  his  granaries.” 

“  And  w'hat  mean  you,”  said  the  Emperor,  “  that  I  am  to  do,  while  my 
Anglo-Saxons  fight  for  my  sake  ?” 

“  Your  Majesty,”  replied  Achilles,  not  exactly  satisfied  with  the  dry  and 
caustic  manner  in  which  the  Emperor  addressed  him,  “  may  put  yourself  at 
the  head  of  the  Immortal  cohorts  of  Constantinople  ;  and  I  am  your  security, 
that  you  may  either  perfect  the  victory  over  the  Latins,  or  at  least  redeem 
the  most  distant  chance  of  a  defeat,  by  advancing  at  the  head  of  this  choice 
body  of  domestic  troops,  should  the  day  appear  doubtful.” 

“  You,  yourself,  Achilles  Tatius,”  returned  the  Emperor,  “  have  repeat¬ 
edly  assured  us,  that  these  Immortals  retain  a  perverse  attachment  to  our 
rebel  Ursel.  IIow  is  it,  then,  you  would  have  us  intrust  our  defence  to  these 
bands,  when  we  have  engaged  our  valiant  Varangians  in  the  proposed  con¬ 
flict  with  the  flower  of  the  western  army? — Did  you  think  of  this  risk.  Sir 
Follower?” 

Achilles  Tatius,  much  alarmed  at  an  intimation  indicative  of  his  purpose 
being  known,  answered,  “  That  in  his  haste  he  had  been  more  anxious  to 
recommend  the  plan  which  should  expose  his  own  person  to  the  greater 
danger,  than  that  perhaps  which  was  most  attended  with  personal  safety  to 
his  Imperial  Master.” 

“I  thank  you  for  so  doing,”  said  the  Emperor ;  “you  have  anticipated 
my  wishes,  though  it  is  not  in  my  power  at  present  to  follow  the  advice  you 
have  given  me.  I  would  have  been  well  contented,  undoubtedly,  had  these 
Latins  measured  their  way  over  the  strait  again,  as  suggested  by  last  night’s 
council ;  but  since  they  have  arrived,  and  stand  embattled  on  our  shores,  it 
is  better  that  we  pay  them  with  money  and  with  spoil,  than  with  the  lives 
of  our  gallant  subjects.  We  cannot,  after  all,  believe  that  they  come  with 
any  serious  intention  of  doing  us  injury ;  it  is  but  the  insane  desire  of  wit¬ 
nessing  feats  of  battle  and  single  combat,  which  is  to  them  the  breath  of 
their  nostrils,  that  can  have  impelled  them  to  this  partial  countermarch.  I 
impose  upon  you,  Achilles  Tatius,  combining  the  Protospathaire  in  the  same 
commission  with  you,  the  duty  of  riding  up  to  yonder  standard,  and  learn¬ 
ing  of  their  chief,  called  the  Prince  Tancred,  if  he  is  there  in  person,  the 
purpose  of  his  return,  and  the  cause  of  his  entering  into  debate  with  Phra¬ 
ortes  and  the  Lemnos  squadron.  If  they  send  us  any  reasonable  excuse, 
we  shall  not  be  averse  to  receive  it  at  their  hands  ;  for  we  have  not  made  so 
many  sacrifices  for  the  preservation  of  peace,  to  break  forth  into  war,  if, 
after  all,  so  great  an  evil  can  be  avoided.  Thou  wilt  receive,  therefore,  with 
a  candid  and  complacent  mind,  such  apologies  as  they  may  incline  to  bring 
forward ;  and,  be  assured,  that  the  sight  of  this  puppet-show  of  a  single 


9 


228 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


combat,  will  be  enough  of  itself  to  banish  every  other  consideration  from 
the  reflection  of  these  giddy  crusaders/' 

A  knock  was  at  this  moment  heard  at  the  door  of  the  Emperor’s  apart¬ 
ment  ;  and  upon  the  word  being  given  to  enter,  the  Protospathaire  made  his 
appearance.  He  was  arrayed  in  a  splendid  suit  of  ancient  Roman  fashioned 
armour.  The  want  of  a  visor  left  his  countenance  entirely  visible  ;  which, 
pale  and  anxious  as  it  was,  did  not  well  become  the  martial  crest  and 
dancing  plume  with  which  it  was  decorated.  He  received  the  commission 
already  mentioned  with  the  less  alacrity,  because  the  Acolyte  was  added  to 
him  as  his  colleague  ;  for,  as  the  reader  may  have  observed,  these  two  officers 
were  of  separate  factions  in  the  army,  and  on  indifierent  terms  with  each 
other.  Neither  did  the  Acolyte  consider  his  being  united  in  commission 
with  the  Protospathaire,  as  a  mark  either  of  the  Emperor’s  confidence,  or 
of  his  own  safety.  He  was,  however,  in  the  meantime,  in  the  Blacquernal, 
where  the  slaves  of  the  interior  made  not  the  least  hesitation,  when  ordered, 
to  execute  any  officer  of  the  court.  The  two  generals  had,  therefore,  no 
other  alternative,  than  that  which  is  allowed  to  two  greyhounds  who  are 
reluctantly  coupled  together.  The  hope  of  Achilles  Tatius  was,  that  he 
might  get  safely  through  his  mission  to  Tancred,  after  which  he  thought  the 
successful  explosion  of  the  conspiracy  might  take  place  and  have  its  course, 
either  as  a  matter  desired  and  countenanced  by  those  Latins,  or  passed  over 
as  a  thing  in  which  they  took  no  interest  on  either  side. 

By  the  parting  order  of  the  Emperor,  they  were  to  mount  on  horseback  at 
the  sounding  of  the  great  Varangian  trumpet,  put  themselves  at  the  head  of 
those  Anglo-Saxon  guards  in  the  court-yard  of  their  barrack,  and  await  the 
Emperor’s  further  orders. 

There  was  something  in  this  arrangement  which  pressed  hard  on  the  con¬ 
science  of  Achilles  Tatius,  yet  he  was  at  a  loss  to  justify  his  apprehensions 
to  himself,  unless  from  a  conscious  feeling  of  his  own  guilt.  He  felt,  how¬ 
ever,  that  in  being  detained,  under  pretence  of  an  honourable  mission,  at 
the  head  of  the  Varangians,  he  was  deprived  of  the  liberty  of  disposing  of 
himself,  by  which  he  had  hoped  to  communicate  with  the  Caesar  and  Here- 
ward,  whom  he  reckoned  upon  as  his  active  accomplices,  not  knowing  that 
the  first  was  at  this  moment  a  prisoner  in  the  Blacquernal,  where  Alexius 
had  arrested  him  in  the  apartments  of  the  Empress,  and  that  the  second 
was  the  most  important  support  of  Comnenus  during  the  whole  of  that 
eventful  day. 

When  the  gigantic  trumpet  of  the  Varangian  guards  sent  forth  its  deep 
signal  through  the  city,  the  Protospathaire  hurried  Achilles  along  with  him 
to  the  rendezvous  of  the  Varangians,  and  on  the  way  said  to  him,  in  an  easy 
and  indififerent  tone,  “  As  the  Emperor  is  in  the  field  in  person,  you,  his 
representative,  or  Follower,  will  of  course  transmit  no  orders  to  the  body¬ 
guard,  except  such  as  shall  receive  their  origin  from  himself,  so  that  you 
will  consider  your  authority  as  this  day  suspended.” 

“  I  regret,”  said  Achilles,  “that  there  should  have  seemed  any  cause  for 
such  precautions;  I  had  hoped  my  own  truth  and  fidelity — but  —  I  am 
obsequious  to  his  imperial  pleasure  in  all  things.” 

“  Such  are  his  orders,”  said  the  other  officer,  “  and  you  know  under  what 
penalty  obedience  is  enforced.” 

“  If  I  did  not,”  said  Achilles,  “the  composition  of  this  body  of  guards 
would  remind  me,  since  it  comprehends  not  only  great  part  of  those  Varan¬ 
gians,  who  are  the  immediate  defenders  of  the  Emperor’s  throne,  but  those 
slaves  of  the  interior,  who  are  the  executioners  of  his  pleasure.” 

To  this  the  Protospathaire  returned  no  answer,  while  the  more  closely 
the  Acolyte  looked  upon  the  guard  which  attended,  to  the  unusual  number 
of  nearly  three  thousand  men,  the  more  had  he  reason  to  believe  that  he 
might  esteem  himself  fortunate,  if,  by  the  intervention  of  either  the  Csesar, 
Agelastos,  or  Hereward,  he  could  pass  to  the  conspirators  a  signal  to  sus- 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


229 


pend  the  intended  explo55ion,  which  seemed  to  be  provided  against  by  the 
Emperor  with  unusual  caution.  He  would  have  given  the  full  dream  of 
empire,  with  which  he  had  been  for  a  short  time  lulled  to  sleep,  to  have 
seen  but  a  glimpse  of  the  azure  plume  of  Nicephorus,  the  white  mantle  of 
the  philosopher,  or  even  a  glimmer  of  Ilereward’s  battle-axe.  No  such 
objects  could  be  seen  anywhere,  and  not  a  little  was  the  faithless  Follower 
displeased  to  see  that  whichever  way  he  turned  his  eyes,  those  of  the  Pro- 
tospathaire,  but  especially  of  the  trusty  domestic  officers  of  the  empire, 
seemed  to  follow  and  watch  their  occupation. 

Amidst  the  numerous  soldiers  whom  he  saw  on  all  sides,  his  eye  did  not 
recognise  a  single  man  with  whom  he  could  exchange  a  friendly  or  confi¬ 
dential  glance,  and  he  stood  in  all  that  agony  of  terror,  which  is  rendered 
the  more  discomfiting,  because  the  traitor  is  conscious  that,  beset  by  various 
foes,  his  own  fears  are  the  most  likely  of  all  to  betray  him.  Internally,  as 
the  danger  seemed  to  increase,  and  as  his  alarmed  imagination  attempted 
to  discern  new  reasons  for  it,  he  could  only  conclude  that  either  one  of  the 
three  principal  conspirators,  or  at  least  some  of  the  inferiors,  had  turned  in¬ 
formers  ;  and  his  doubt  was,  whether  he  should  not  screen  his  own  share 
of  what  had  been  premeditated,  by  flinging  himself  at  the  feet  of  the 
Emperor,  and  making  a  full  confession.  But  still  the  fear  of  being  pre¬ 
mature  in  having  recourse  to  such  base  means  of  saving  himself,  joined  to 
the  absence  of  the  Emperor,  united  to  keep  within  his  lips  a  secret,  which 
concerned  not  only  all  his  future  fortunes,  but  life  itself.  lie  "was  in  the 
meantime,  therefore,  plunged  as  it  were  in  a  sea  of  trouble  and  uncertainty, 
while  the  specks  of  land,  which  seemed  to  promise  him  refuge,  were  distant, 
dimly  seen,  and  extremely  difficult  of  attainment. 


Cjinpttr  tilt  €j)irii|-.lir3t. 

To-morrow  —  oh,  that’s  sudden !  Spare  him,  spare  him  ! 

He’s  not  prepared  to  die. 

Shakspeare. 

At  the  moment  when  Achilles  Tatius,  with  a  feeling  of  much  insecurity, 
awaited  the  unwinding  of  the  perilous  skein  of  state  politics,  a  private 
council  of  the  Imperial  family  was  held  in  the  hall  termed  the  Temple  of 
the  Muses,  repeatedly  distinguished  as  the  apartment  in  which  the  Princess 
Anna  Comnena  was  wont  to  make  her  evening  recitations  to  those  who 
were  permitted  the  honour  of  hearing  prelections  of  her  history.  The 
council  consisted  of  the  Empress  Irene,  the  Princess  herself,  and  the 
Emperor,  with  the  Patriarch  of  the  Greek  Church,  as  a  sort  of  mediator 
between  a  course  of  severity  and  a  dangerous  degree  of  lenity. 

“  Tell  not  me,  Irene,’^  said  the  Emperor,  “  of  the  fine  things  attached  to 
the  praise  of  mercy.  Here  have  I  sacrificed  my  just  revenge  over  my  rival 
Ursel,  and  what  good  do  I  obtain  by  it?  Why,  the  old  obstinate  man, 
instead  of  being  tractable,  and  sensible  of  the  generosity  which  has  spared 
his  life  and  eyes,  can  be  wdth  difficulty  brought  to  exert  himself  in  favour 
of  the  Prince  to  whom  he  owes  them.  I  used  to  think  that  eyesight  and 
the  breath  of  life  were  things  which  one  would  preserve  at  any  sacrifice  ; 
but,  on  the  contrary,  I  now  believe  men  value  them  like  mere  toys.  Talk 
not  to  me,  therefore,  of  the  gratitude  to  be  excited  by  saving  this  ungrateful 
Cub;  and  believe  me,  girl,'^  turning  to  Anna,  “that  not  only  will  all  my 
subjects,  should  I  follow  your  advice,  laugh  at  me  for  sparing  a  man  so 

u 


230 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


predetermined  to  work  my  ruin,  but  even  thou  thyself  wilt  be  the  first  to 
upbraid  me  with  the  foolish  kindness  thou  art  now  so  anxious  to  extort 
from  me/^ 

“Your  Imperial  pleasure,  then,”  said  the  Patriarch,  “is  fixed  that  your 
unfortunate  son-in-law  shall  suffer  death  for  his  accession  to  this  con¬ 
spiracy,  deluded  by  that  heathen  villain  Agelastes,  and  the  traitorous 
Achilles  Tatius  ?” 

“  Such  is  my  purpose,”  said  the  Emperor ;  “  and  in  evidence  that  I 
mean  not  again  to  pass  over  a  sentence  of  this  kind  with  a  seeming 
execution  only,  as  in  the  case  of  Ursel,  this  ungrateful  traitor  of  ours 
shall  be  led  from  the  top  of  the  staircase,  or  ladder  of  Acheron,  as  it 
is  called,  through  the  large  chamber  named  the  Hall  of  Judgment,  at 
the  upper  end  of  which  are  arranged  the  apparatus  for  execution,  by 
which  I  swear” - 

“  Swear  not  at  all !”  said  the  Patriarch  ;  “  I  forbid  thee,  in  the  name  of 
that  Heaven  whose  voice  (though  unworthy)  speaks  in  my  person,  to 
quench  the  smoking  flax,  or  destroy  the  slight  hope  which  there  may 
remain,  that  you  may  finally  be  persuaded  to  alter  your  purpose?  respecting 
your  misguided  son-in-law,  within  the  space  allotted  to  him  to  sue  for  your 
mercy.  Remember,  I  pray  you,  the  remorse  of  Constantine.” 

“  What  means  your  reverence?”  said  Irene. 

“A  trifle,”  replied  the  Emperor,  “not  worthy  being  quoted  from  such  a 
mouth  as  the  Patriarch’s,  being,  as  it  probably  is,  a  relic  of  paganism.” 

“What  is  it?”  exclaimed  the  females  anxiously,  in  the  hope  of  hearing 
something  which  might  strengthen  their  side  of  the  argument,  and  some¬ 
thing  moved,  perhaps,  by  curiosity,  a  motive  which  seldom  slumbers  in  a 
female  bosom,  even  when  the  stronger  passions  are  in  arms. 

“  The  Patriarch  will  tell  you,”  answered  Alexius,  “  since  you  must  needs 
know ;  though  I  promise  you,  you  will  not  receive  any  assistance  in  your 
argument  from  a  silly  legendary  tale.” 

“  Hear  it,  however,”  said  the  Patriarch ;  “  for  though  it  is  a  tale  of  the 
olden  time,  and  sometimes  supposed  to  refer  to  the  period  when  heathenism 
predominated,  it  is  no  less  true,  that  it  was  a  vow  made  and  registered  in 
the  chancery  of  the  rightful  Deity,  by  an  Emperor  of  Greece.” 

“  What  I  am  now  to  relate  to  you,”  continued  he,  “  is,  in  truth,  a  tale  not 
only  of  a  Christian  Emperor,  but  of  him  who  made  the  whole  empire 
Christian  ;  and  of  that  very  Constantine,  who  was  also  the  first  who  declared 
Constantinople  to  be  the  metropolis  of  the  empire.  This  hero,  remarkable 
alike  for  his  zeal  for  religion  and  for  his  warlike  achievements,  was  crowned 
by  Heaven  with  repeated  victory,  and  with  all  manner  of  blessings,  save 
that  unity  in  his  family  which  wise  men  are  most  ambitious  to  possess. 
Not  only  was  the  blessing  of  concord  among  brethren  denied  to  the  family 
of  this  triumphant  Emperor,  but  a  deserving  son  of  mature  age,  who  had 
been  supposed  to  aspire  to  share  the  throne  with  his  father,  was  suddenly, 
and  at  midnight,  called  upon  to  enter  his  defence  against  a  capital  charge 
of  treason.  You  will  readily  excuse  my  referring  to  the  arts  by  which  the 
son  was  rendered  guilty  in  the  eyes  of  the  father.  Be  it  enough  to  say, 
that  the  unfortunate  young  man  fell  a  victim  to  the  guilt  of  his  stop-mother, 
Eausta,  and  that  he  disdained  to  exculpate  himself  from  a  charge  so  gross 
and  so  erroneous.  It  is  said,  that  the  anger  of  the  Emperor  was  kept  up 
against  his  son  by  the  sycophants  who  called  upon  Constantine  to  observe 
that  the  culprit  disdained  even  to  supplicate  for  mercy,  or  vindicate  his 
innocence  from  so  foul  a  charge. 

“  But  the  death-blow  had  no  sooner  struck  the  innocent  youth,  than  his 
father  obtained  proof  of  the  rashness  with  which  he  had  acted.  He  had  at 
this  period  been  engaged  in  constructing  the  subterranean  parts  of  the 
Blacquernal  palace,  which  his  remorse  appointed  to  contain  a  record  of 
his  paternal  grief  and  contrition.  At  the  upper  part  of  the  staircase,  called 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


231 


the  Pit  of  Acheron,  he  caused  to  be  constructed  a  large  chamber,  still  called 
the  Hall  of  J-udgment,  for  the  purpose  of  execution.  A  passage  through 
an  archway  in  the  upper  wall  leads  from  the  hall  to  the  place  of  misery, 
where  the  axe,  or  other  engine,  is  disposed  for  the  execution  of  state 
prisoners  of  consequence.  Over  this  archway  was  placed  a  species  of 
marble  altar,  surmounted  by  an  image  of  the  unfortunate  Crispus  —  the 
materials  were  gold,  and  it  bore  the  memorable  inscription,  To  my  son, 
WHOM  I  RASHLY  CONDEMNED,  AND  TOO  HASTILY  EXECUTED.  When  Construct¬ 
ing  this  passage,  Constantine  made  a  vow,  that  he  himself  and  his  pos¬ 
terity,  being  reigning  Emperors,  would  stand  beside  the  statue  of  Crispus, 
at  the  time  when  any  individual  of  their  family  should  be  led  to  execution, 
and  before  they  suffered  him  to  pass  from  the  Hall  of  Judgment  to  the 
Chamber  of  Death,  that  they  should  themselves  be  personally  convinced  of 
the  truth  of  the  charge  under  which  he  suffered. 

“Time  rolled  on  —  the  memory  of  Constantine  was  remembered  almost 
like  that  of  a  saint,  and  the  respect  paid  to  it  threw  into  shadow  the  anec¬ 
dote  of  his  son’s  death.  The  exigencies  of  the  state  rendered  it  difficult  to 
keep  so  large  a  sum  in  specie  invested  in  a  statue,  which  called  to  mind  the 
unpleasant  failings  of  so  great  a  man.  Your  Imperial  Highness’s  prede¬ 
cessors  applied  the  metal  which  formed  the  statue  to  support  the  Turkish 
wars  ;  and  the  remorse  and  penance  of  Constantine  died  away  in  an  obscure 
tradition  of  the  Church  or  of  the  palace.  Still,  however,  unless  your  Impe¬ 
rial  Majesty  has  strong  reasons  to  the  contrary,  I  shall  give  it  as  my  opinion, 
that  you  will  hardly  achieve  what  is  due  to  the  memory  of  the  greatest  of 
your  predecessors,  unless  you  give  this  unfortunate  criminal,  being  so  near 
a  relation  of  your  own,  an  opportunity  of  pleading  his  cause  before  pass¬ 
ing  by  the  altar  of  refuge ;  being  the  name  which  is  commonly  given  to  the 
monument  of  the  unfortunate  Crispus,  son  of  Constantine,  although  now 
deprived  both  of  the  golden  letters  which  composed  the  inscription,  and  the 
golden  image  which  represented  the  royal  sufferer.” 

A  mournful  strain  of  music  was  now  heard  to  ascend  the  stair  so  often 
mentioned. 

“  If  I  must  hear  the  Caesar  Nicephorus  Briennius,  ere  he  pass  the  altar 
of  refuge,  there  must  be  no  loss  of  time,”  said  the  Emperor ;  “  for  these 
melancholy  sounds  announce  that  he  has  already  approached  the  Hall  of 
Judgment.” 

Both  the  Imperial  ladies  began  instantly,  with  the  utmost  earnestness,  to 
deprecate  the  execution  of  the  Caesar’s  doom,  and  to  conjure  Alexius,  as  he 
hoped  for  quiet  in  his  household,  and  the  everlasting  gratitude  of  his  wife 
and  daughter,  that  he  would  listen  to  their  entreaties  in  behalf  of  an  unfor¬ 
tunate  man,  who  had  been  seduced  into  guilt,  but  not  from  his  heart. 

“  I  will  at  least  see  him,”  said  the  Emperor,  “  and  the  holy  vow  of  Con¬ 
stantine  shall  be  in  the  present  instance  strictly  observed.  But  remember, 
you  foolish  women,  that  the  state  of  Crispus  and  the  present  Csesar,  is  as 
different  as  guilt  from  innocence,  and  that  their  fates,  therefore,  may  be 
justly  decided  upon  opposite  principles,  and  with  opposite  results.  But  I 
will  confront  this  criminal ;  and  you.  Patriarch,  may  be  present  to  render 
wffiat  help  is  in  your  power  to  a  dying  man  ;  for  you,  the  wife  and  mother 
of  the  traitor,  you  will,  methinks,  do  well  to  retire  to  the  church,  and  pray 
God  for  the  soul  of  the  deceased,  rather  than  disturb  his  last  moments  with 
unavailing  lamentations.” 

“  Alexius,”  said  the  Empress  Irene,  “  I  beseech  you  to  be  contented  ;  be 
assured  that  we  will  not  leave  you  in  this  dogged  humour  of  blood-shedding, 
lest  you  make  such  materials  for  history  as  are  fitter  for  the  time  of  Nero 
than  of  Constantine.” 

The  Emperor,  without  reply,  led  the  way  into  the  Hall  of  Judgment, 
where  a  much  stronger  light  than  usual  was  already  shining  up  the  stair  of 
Acheron,  from  which  were  heard  to  sound,  by  sullen  and  intermitted  fits. 


232 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


the  penitential  psalms  which  the  Greek  Church  has  appointed  to  he  sung  at 
executions.  Twenty  mute  slaves,  the  pale  colour  of  whose  turbans  gave  a 
ghastly  look  to  the  withered  cast  of  their  features,  and  the  glaring  white¬ 
ness  of  their  eyeballs,  ascended  two  by  two,  as  it  were  from  the  bowels  of 
the  earth,  each  of  them  bearing  in  one  hand  a  naked  sabre,  and  in  the  other 
a  lighted  torch.  After  these  came  the  unfortunate  Nicephorus  ;  his  looks 
were  those  of  a  man  half-dead  from  the  terror  of  immediate  dissolution,  and 
what  he  possessed  of  remaining  attention,  was  turned  successively  to  two 
black-stoled  monks,  who  were  anxiously  repeating  religious  passages  to  him 
alternately  from  the  Greek  scripture,  and  the  form  of  devotion  adopted  by 
the  court  of  Constantinople.  The  Caesar’s  dress  also  corresponded  to  his 
mournful  fortunes ;  His  legs  and  arms  were  bare,  and  a  simple  white  tunic, 
the  neck  of  which  was  already  open,  showed  that  he  had  assumed  the  gar¬ 
ments  which  were  to  serve  his  last  turn.  A  tall  muscular  Nubian  slave, 
who  considered  himself  obviously  as  the  principal  person  in  the  procession, 
bore  on  his  shoulder  a  large  heavy  headsman’s  axe,  and,  like  a  demon  wait¬ 
ing  on  a  sorcerer,  stalked  step  for  step  after  his  victim.  The  rear  of  the 
procession  was  closed  by  a  band  of  four  priests,  each  of  whom  chanted  from 
time  to  time  the  devotional  psalm  which  was  thundered  forth  on  the  occa¬ 
sion  ;  and  another  of  slaves,  armed  with  bows  and  quivers,  and  with  lances, 
to  resist  any  attempt  at  rescue,  if  such  should  be  offered. 

It  would  have  required  a  harder  heart  than  that  of  the  unlucky  princess 
to  have  resisted  this  gloomy  apparatus  of  fear  and  sorrow,  surrounding,  at 
the  same  time  directed  against,  a  beloved  object,  the  lover  of  her  youth,  and 
the  husband  of  her  bosom,  within  a  few  minutes  of  the  termination  of  his 
mortal  career. 

As  the  mournful  train  approached  towards  the  altar  of  refuge,  half-en¬ 
circled  as  it  now  was  by  the  two  great  and  expanded  arms  which  projected 
from  the  wall,  the  Emperor,  who  stood  directly  in  the  passage,  threw  upon 
the  flame  of  the  altar  some  chips  of  aromatic  wood,  steeped  in  spirit  of 
wine,  which,  leaping  at  once  into  a  blaze,  illuminated  the  doleful  procession, 
the  figure  of  the  principal  culprit,  and  the  slaves,  who  had  most  of  them 
extinguished  their  flambeaux  so  soon  as  they  had  served  the  purpose  of  light¬ 
ing  them  up  the  staircase. 

The  sudden  light  spread  from  the  altar  failed  not  to  make  the  Emperor 
and  the  Princess  visible  to  the  mournful  group  which  approached  through 
the  hall.  All  halted  —  all  were  silent.  It  was  a  meeting,  as  the  Princess 
has  expressed  herself  in  her  historical  work,  such  as  took  place  betwixt 
Ulysses  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  other  world,  who,  when  they  tasted  of 
the  blood  of  his  sacrifices,  recognised  him  indeed,  but  with  empty  lamen¬ 
tations,  and  gestures  feeble  and  shadowy.  The  hymn  of  contrition  sunk  also 
into  silence  ;  and,  of  the  whole  group,  the  only  figure  rendered  more  distinct,' 
was  the  gigantic  executioner,  whose  high  and  furrowed  forehead,  as  well 
as  the  broad  steel  of  his  axe,  caught  and  reflected  back  the  bright  gleam 
from  the  altar.  Alexius  saw  the  necessity  of  breaking  the  silence  which 
ensued,  lest  it  should  give  the  intercessors  for  the  prisoner  an  opportunity 
of  renewing  their  entreaties. 

“  Nicephorus  Briennius,”  he  said,  with  a  voice  which,  although  generally 
interrupted  by  a  slight  hesitation,  which  procured  him,  among  his  enemies, 
the  nickname  of  the  Stutterer,  yet,  upon  important  occasions  like  the 
present,  was  so  judiciously  tuned  and  balanced  in  its  sentences,  that  no  such 
defect  was  at  all  visible — “Nicephorus  Briennius,”  he  said,  “late  Caesar, 
the  lawful  doom  hath  been  spoken,  that,  having  conspired  against  the  life 
of  thy  rightful  sovereign  and  affectionate  father,  Alexius  Comnenus,  thou 
shalt  suffer  the  appropriate  sentence,  by  having  thy  head  struck  from  thy 
body.  Here,  therefore,  at  the  last  altar  of  refuge,  I  meet  thee,  according  to 
the  vow  of  the  immortal  Constantine,  for  the  purpose  of  demanding  whether 
thou  hast  any  thing  to  allege  why  this  doom  should  not  be^  executed  ?  Even 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


233 


at  this  eleventh  hour,  thy  tongue  is  unloosed  to  speak  with  freedom  what 
may  concern  thy  life.  All  is  prepared  in  this  world  and  in  the  next.  Look 
forward  beyond  yon  archway — the  block  is  fixed.  Look  behind  thee,  thou 
seest  the  axe  already  sharpened  —  thy  place  for  good  or  evil  in  the  next 
world  is  already  determined — time  flies — eternity  approaches.  If  thou  hast 
aught  to  say,  speak  it  freely — if  nought,  confess  the  justice  of  thy  sentence, 
and  pass  on  to  death.^’ 

The  Emperor  commenced  this  oration,  with  those  looks  described  by  his 
daughter  as  so  piercing,  that  they  dazzled  like  lightning,  and  his  periods,  if 
not  precisely  flowing  like  burning  lava,  were  yet  the  accents  of  a  man  having 
the  power  of  absolute  command,  and  as  such  produced  an  effect  not  only  on 
the  criminal,  but  also  upon  the  Prince  himself,  whose  watery  eyes  and  fal¬ 
tering  voice  acknowledged  his  sense  and  feeling  of  the  fatal  import  of  the 
present  moment. 

Kousing  himself  to  the  conclusion  of  what  he  had  commenced,  the  Em¬ 
peror  again  demanded  whether  the  prisoner  had  any  thing  to  say  in  his  own 
defence. 

Nicephorus  was  not  one  of  those  hardened  criminals  who  may  be  termed 
the  very  prodigies  of  history,  from  the  coolness  with  which  they  contem¬ 
plated  the  consummation  of  their  crimes,  whether  in  their  own  punishment, 
or  the  misfortunes  of  others.  “I  have  been  tempted,'^  he  said,  dropping  on 
his  knees,  “  and  I  have  fallen.  I  have  nothing  to  allege  in  excuse  of  my 
folly  and  ingratitude  ;  but  1  stand  prepared  to  die  to  expiate  my  guilt.^^  A 
deep  sigh,  almost  amounting  to  a  scream,  was  here  heard,  close  behind  the 
Emperor,  and  its  cause  assigned  by  the  sudden  exclamation  of  Irene, — “  My 
lord  !  my  lord  !  your  daughter  is  gone  And  in  fact  Anna  Comnena  had 
sunk  into  her  mother’s  arms  without  either  sense  or  motion.  The  father’s 
attention  was  instantly  called  to  support  his  swooning  child,  wLile  the  un¬ 
happy  husband  strove  with  the  guards  to  be  permitted  to  go  to  the  assistance 
of  his  wife.  “Give  me  but  five  minutes  of  that  time  which  the  law  has 
abridged — let  my  efforts  but  assist  in  recalling  her  to  a  life  which  should  be 
as  long  as  her  virtues  and  her  talents  deserve  ;  and  then  let  me  die  at  her 
feet,  for  I  care  not  to  go  an  inch  beyond.” 

The  Emperor,  who  in  fact  had  been  more  astonished  at  the  boldness  and 
rashness  of  Nicephorus,  than  alarmed  by  his  power,  considered  him  as  a  man 
rather  misled  than  misleading  others,  and  felt,  therefore,  the  full  effect  of 
this  last  interview.  He  was,  besides,  not  naturally  cruel,  where  severities 
were  to  be  enforced  under  his  own  eye. 

“The  divine  and  immortal  Constantine,”  he  said,  “did  not,  I  am  per¬ 
suaded,  subject  his  descendants  to  this  severe  trial,  in  order  further  to  search 
out  the  innocence  of  the  criminals,  but  rather  to  give  to  those  who  came 
after  him  an  opportunity  of  generously  forgiving  a  crime  which  could  not, 
without  pardon — the  express  pardon  of  the  Prince — escape  unpunished.  I 
rejoice  that  I  am  born  of  the  willow  rather  than  of  the  oak,  and  I  acknow¬ 
ledge  my  weakness,  that  not  even  the  safety  of  my  own  life,  or  resentment 
of  this  unhappy  man’s  treasonable  machinations,  have  the  same  effect  with 
me  as  the  tears  of  my  wife,  and  the  swooning  of  my  daughter.  Rise  up, 
Nicephorus  Briennius,  freely  pardoned,  and  restored  even  to  the  rank  of 
Cmsar.  We  will  direct  thy  pardon  to  be  made  out  by  the  great  Logothete, 
and  sealed  with  the  golden  bull.  For  four-and-twenty  hours  thou  art  a 
prisoner,  until  an  arrangement  is  made  for  preserving  the  public  peace. 
Meanwhile,  thou  wilt  remain  under  the  charge  of  the  Patriarch,  who  will  be 
answerable  for  thy  forthcoming.  —  Daughter  and  wife,  you  must  now  go 
hence  to  your  owm  apartment ;  a  future  time  will  come,  during  which  you 
may  have  enough  of  weeping  and  embracing,  mourning  and  rejoicing.  Pray 
Heaven  that  1,  who,  having  been  trained  on  till  1  have  sacrificed  justice  and 
true  policy  to  uxorious  compassion  and  paternal  tenderness  ot  heart,  may 


234 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


not  have  cause  at  last  for  grieving  in  good  earnest  for  all  the  events  of  this 
miscellaneous  drama/^ 

The  pardoned  Caesar,  who  endeavoured  to  regulate  his  ideas  according  to 
this  unexpected  change,  found  it  as  difficult  to  reconcile  himself  to  the  reality 
of  his  situation  as  Ursel  to  the  face  of  nature,  after  having  been  long  deprived 
of  enjoying  it ;  so  much  do  the  dizziness  and  confusion  of  ideas,  occasioned 
by  moral  and  physical  causes  of  surprise  and  terror,  resemble  each  other  in 
their  effects  on  the  understanding. 

At  length  he  stammered  forth  a  request  that  he  might  be  permitted  to  go 
to  the  field  with  the  Emperor,  and  divert,  by  the  interposition  of  his  own 
body,  the  traitorous  blows  which  some  desperate  man  might  aim  against 
that  of  his  Prince,  in  a  day  which  was  too  likely  to  be  one  of  danger  and 
bloodshed. 

“  Hold  there  I”  said  Alexius  Comnenus  ; — “  we  will  not  begin  thy  newly- 
redeemed  life  by  renewed  doubts  of  thine  allegiance ;  yet  it  is  but  fitting  to 
remind  thee,  that  thou  art  still  the  nominal  and  ostensible  head  of  those  who 
expect  to  take  a  part  in  this  day’s  insurrection,  and  it  will  be  the  safest 
course  to  trust  its  pacification  to  others  than  to  thee.  Go,  sir,  compare  notes 
with  the  Patriarch,  and  merit  your  pardon  by  confessing  to  him  any  traitor¬ 
ous  intentions  concerning  this  foul  conspiracy  with  which  we  may  be  as  yet 
unacquainted.  —  Daughter  and  wife,  farewell!  I  must  now  depart  for  the 
lists,  where  I  have  to  speak  with  the  traitor  Achilles  Tatius  and  the  heathen¬ 
ish  infidel  Agelastes,  if  he  still  lives,  but  of  whose  providential  death  I  hear 
a  confirmed  rumour.” 

“  Yet  do  not  go,  my  dearest  father  !”  said  the  Princess  ;  “  but  let  me  rather 
go  to  encourage  the  loyal  subjects  in  your  behalf.  The  extreme  kindness 
which  you  have  extended  towards  my  guilty  husband,  convinces  me  of  the 
extent  of  your  affection  towards  your  unworthy  daughter,  and  the  greatness 
of  the  sacrifice  which  you  have  made  to  her  almost  childish  affection  for  an 
ungrateful  man  who  put  your  life  in  danger.” 

“  That  is  to  say,  daughter,”  said  the  Emperor,  smiling,  “  that  the  pardon 
of  your  husband  is  a  boon  which  has  lost  its  merit  when  it  is  granted. 
Take  my  advice,  Anna,  and  think  otherwise ;  wives  and  their  husbands 
ought  in  prudence  to  forget  their  offences  towards  each  other  as  soon  as 
human  nature  will  permit  them.  Life  is  too  short,  and  conjugal  tran¬ 
quillity  too  uncertain,  to  admit  of  dwelling  long  upon  such  irritating 
subjects.  To  your  apartments.  Princesses,  and  prepiire  the  scarlet-buskins, 
and  the  embroidery  which  is  displayed  on  the  cuffs  and  collars  of  the 
Caesar’s  robe,  indicative  of  his  high  rank.  lie  must  not  be  seen  without 
them  on  the  morrow.  —  Reverend  father,  I  remind  you  once  more  that  the 
Caesar  is  in  your  personal  custody  from  this  moment  until  to-morrow  at  the 
same  hour.” 

They  parted ;  the  Emperor  repairing  to  put  himself  at  the  head  of  his 
Varangian  guards — the  Caesar,  under  the  superintendence  of  the  Patriarch, 
withdrawing  into  the  interior  of  the  Blacquernal  Palace,  where  Nicephorus 
Briennius  was  under  the  necessity  of  “  unthreading  the  rude  eye  of  rebel¬ 
lion,”  and  throwing  such  lights  as  were  in  his  power  upon  the  progress  of 
the  conspiracy. 

“Agelastes,”  he  said,  “Achilles  Tatius,  and  Hereward  the  Varangian, 
were  the  persons  principally  entrusted  in  its  progress.  But  whether  they 
had  been  all  true  to  their  engagements,  he  did  not  pretend  to  be  assured.” 

In  the  female  apartments,  there  was  a  violent  discussion  betwixt  Anna 
Comnena  and  her  mother.  The  Princess  had  undergone  during  the  day 
many  changes  of  sentiment  and  feeling;  and  though  they  had  finally  united 
themselves  into  one  strong  interest  in  her  husband’s  favour,  ^mt  no  sooner 
was  the  fear  of  his  punishment  removed,  than  the  sense  of  his  ungrateful 
behaviour  began  to  revive.  She  became  sensible  also  that  a  woman  of  her 
extraordinary  attainments,  who  had  been  by  a  universal  course  of  flattery 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


235 


disposed  to  entertain  a  very  high  opinion  of  her  own  consequence,  mado 
rather  a  poor  figure  w'hen  she  had  been  the  passive  subject  of  a  long  series 
of  intrigues,  by  wdiich  she  w’as  destined  to  be  disposed  of  in  one  way  or  the 
other,  according  to  the  humour  of  a  set  of  subordinate  conspirators,  who 
never  so  much  as  dreamed  of  regarding  her  as  a  being  capable  of  forming 
a  wish  in  her  own  behalf,  or  even  yielding  or  refusing  a  consent.  Her 
father’s  authority  over  her,  and  right  to  dispose  of  her,  w'as  less  questionable; 
but  even  then  it  was  something  derogatory  to  the  dignity  of  a  Princess  born 
in  the  purple — an  authoress  besides,  and  giver  of  immortality — to  be,  without 
her  own  consent,  throwm,  as  it  were,  at  the  head  now  of  one  suitor,  now  of 
another,  how'ever  mean  or  disgusting,  whose  alliance  could  for  the  time 
benefit  the  Emperor.  The  consequence  of  these  moody  reflections,  was  that 
Anna  Comnena  deeply  toiled  in  spirit  for  the  discovery  of  some  means  by 
which  she  might  assert  her  sullied  dignity,  and  various  were  the  expedients 
which  she  revolved. 


Cjinptcr  tljt 

But  now  the  hand  of  fate  is  on  the  curtain. 

And  brings  the  scene  to  ligiit. 

Don  Sebastian. 

The  gigantic  trumpet  of  the  Varangians  sounded  its  loudest  note  of 
march,  and  the  squadrons  of  the  fliithful  guards,  sheathed  in  complete  mail, 
and  enclosing  in  their  centre  the  person  of  their  Imperial  master,  set  forth 
upon  their  procession  through  the  streets  of  Constantinople.  The  form  of 
Alexius,  glittering  in  his  splendid  armour,  seemed  no  unmeet  central  point 
for  the  force  of  an  empire ;  and  while  the  citizens  crowded  in  the  train  of 
him  and  his  escort,  there  might  be  seen  a  visible  difference  between  those 
■who  came  with  the  premeditated  intention  of  tumult,  and  the  greater  part, 
who,  like  the  multitude  of  every  great  city,  thrust  each  other  and  shout  for 
rapture  on  account  of  any  cause  for  which  a  crowd  may  be  collected 
together.  The  hope  of  the  conspirators  was  lodged  chiefly  in  the  Immortal 
Guards,  who  were  levied  principally  for  the  defence  of  Constantinople,  par¬ 
took  of  the  general  prejudices  of  the  citizens,  and  had  been  particularly 
influenced  by  those  in  favour  of  Ursel,  by  whom,  previous  to  his  imprison¬ 
ment,  they  had  themselves  been  commanded.  The  conspirators  had  deter¬ 
mined  that  those  of  this  body  who  were  considered  as  most  discontented, 
should  early  in  the  morning  take  possession  of  the  posts  in  the  lists  most 
favourable  for  their  purpose  of  assaulting  the  Emperor’s  person.  But,  in 
spite  of  all  efforts  short  of  actual  violence,  for  which  the  time  did  not  seem 
to  be  come,  they  found  themselves  disappointed  in  this  purpose,  by  parties 
of  the  Varangian  guards,  planted  with  apparent  carelessness,  but  in  fact, 
with  perfect  skill,  for  the  prevention  of  tlieir  enterprise.  Somewhat  con¬ 
founded  at  perceiving  that  a  design,  which  they  could  not  suppose  to  be 
suspected,  was,  nevertheless,  on  every  part  controlled  and  counter-checked, 
the  conspirators  began  to  look  for  the  principal  persons  of  their  own  party, 
on  whom  they  depended  for  orders  in  this  emergency;  but  neither  the  • 
Caesar  nor  Agelastes  was  to  be  seen,  whether  in  the  lists  or  on  the  military  r 
march  from  Constantinople ;  and  though  Achilles  Tatius  rode  in  the  latter 
assembly,  yet  it  might  be  clearly  observed  that  he  was  rather  attending 
upon  the  Protospathaire,  than  assuming  that  independence  as  an  ofiicer 
which  he  loved  to  affect. 


23G 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


In  this  manner,  as  the  Emperor  with  his  glittering  bands  approached  the 
phalanx  of  Tancred  and  his  followers,  who  were  drawn  up,  it  will  be  remem¬ 
bered,  upon  a  rising  cape  between  the  city  and  the  lists,  the  main  body  of 
the  Imperial  procession  deflected  in  some  degree  from  the  straight  road,  in 
order  to  march  past  them  without  interruption  ;  while  the  Protospathaire 
and  the  Acolyte  passed  under  the  escort  of  a  band  of  Varangians,  to  bear 
the  Emperor’s  inquiries  to  Prince  Tancred,  concerning  the  purpose  of  his 
being  therewith  his  band.  The  short  march  was  soon  performed  —  the 
large  trumpet  which  attended  the  two  otficers  sounded  a  parley,  and  Tan¬ 
cred  himself,  remarkable  for  that  personal  beauty  which  Tasso  has  preferred 
to  any  of  the  crusaders,  except  Ilinaldo  d’Este,  the  creatures  of  his  own 
poetical  imagination,  advanced  to  parley  with  them. 

“  The  Emperor  of  Greece,”  said  the  Protospathaire  to  Tancred,  “  requires 
the  Prince  of  Otranto  to  show,  by  the  two  high  officers  who  shall  deliver 
him  this  message,  with  what  purpose  he  has  returned,  contrary  to  his  oath, 
to  the  right  side  of  these  straits  ;  assuring  Prince  Tancred  at  the  same 
time,  that  nothing  will  so  much  please  the  Emperor,  as  to  receive  an  answer 
not  at  variance  with  his  treaty  with  the  Duke  of  Bouillon,  and  the  oath 
which  was  taken  by  the  crusading  nobles  and  their  soldiers ;  since  that 
would  enable  the  Emperor,  in  conformity  to  his  own  wishes,  by  his  kind 
reception  of  Prince  Tancred  and  his  troop,  to  show  how  high  is  his  estima¬ 
tion  of  the  dignity  of  the  one,  and*  the  bravery  of  both — We  wait  an 
answer.” 

The  tone  of  the  message  had  nothing  in  it  very  alarming,  and  its  substance 
cost  Prince  Tancred  very  little  trouble  to  answer.  “  The  cause,”  he  said, 
“  of  the  Prince  of  Otranto  appearing  here  with  fifty  lances,  is  this  cartel, 
in  which  a  combat  is  appointed  betwixt  Nicephorus  Briennius,  called  the 
Caesar,  a  high  member  of  this  empire,  and  a  worthy  knight  of  great  fame, 
the  partner  of  the  Pilgrims  who  have  taken  the  Cross,  in  their  high  vow  to 
rescue  Palestine  from  the  infidels.  The  name  of  the  said  Knight  is  the 
redoubted  Bobert  of  Paris.  It  becomes,  therefore,  an  obligation,  indispen¬ 
sable  upon  the  Holy  Pilgrims  of  the  Crusade,  to  send  one  chief  of  their 
number,  with  a  body  of  men-at-arms,  sufficient  to  see,  as  is  usual,  fair  play 
between  the  combatants.  That  such  is  their  intention,  may  be  seen  from 
their  sending  no  more  than  fifty  lances,  with  their  furniture  and  following ; 
whereas  it  would  have  cost  them  no  trouble  to  have  detached  ten  times  the 
number,  had  they  nourished  any  purpose  of  interfering  by  force,  or  dis¬ 
turbing  the  fair  combat  which  is  about  to  take  place.  The  Prince  of  Otranto, 
therefore,  and  his  followers,  will  place  themselves  at  the  disposal  of  the 
Imperial  Court,  and  witness  the  proceedings  of  the  combat,  with  the  most 
perfect  confidence  that  the  rules  of  fair  battle  will  be  punctually  observed.” 

The  two  Grecian  officers  transmitted  this  reply  to  the  Emperor,  who  heard 
it  with  pleasure,  and  immediately  proceeding  to  act  upon  the  principle 
which  he  had  laid  down,  of  maintaining  peace,  if  possible,  with  the  cru¬ 
saders,  named  Prince  Tancred  with  the  Protospathaire  as  Field  Marshals 
of  the  lists,  fully  empowered,  under  the  Emperor,  to  decide  all  the  terms 
of  the  combat,  and  to  have  recourse  to  Alexius  himself  where  their  opinions 
disagreed.  This  was  made  known  to  the  assistants,  who  were  thus  pre¬ 
pared  for  the  entry  into  the  lists  of  the  Grecian  officer  and  the  Italian 
Prince  in  full  armour,  while  a  proclamation  announced  to  all  the  spectators 
their  solemn  office.  The  same  annunciation  commanded  the  assistants  of 
every  kind  to  clear  a  convenient  part  of  the  seats  which  surrounded  the 
lists  on  one  side,  that  it  might  serve  for  the  accommodation  of  Prince  Tan- 
cred’s  followers. 

Achilles  Tatius,  who  was  a  heedful  observer  of  all  these  passages,  saw 
with  alarm,  that  by  the  last  collocation  the  armed  Latins  were  interposed 
between  the  Immortal  Guards  and  the  discontented  citizens,  which  madf*  it 
most  probable  that  the  conspiracy  was  discovered,  and  that  Alexius  I'uuud 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


237 


he  had  a  good  right  to  reckon  upon  the  assistance  of  Tancred  and  his  forces 
in  the  task  of  suppressing  it.  This,  added  to  the  cold  and  caustic  manner 
in  which  the  Emperor  communicated  his  commands  to  him,  made  the 
Acolyte  of  opinion,  that  his  best  chance  of  escape  from  the  danger  in  which 
he  was  now  placed,  was,  that  the  whole  conspiracy  should  fall  to  the  ground, 
and  that  the  day  should  pass  without  the  least  attempt  to  shake  the  throne 
of  Alexius  Comnenus.  Even  then  it  continued  highly  doubtful,  whether  a 
despot,  so  wily  and  so  suspicious  as  the  Emperor,  would  think  it  sufficient 
to  rest  satisfied  with  the  private  knowledge  of  the  undertaking,  and  its 
failure,  with  which  he  appeared  to  be  possessed,  without  putting  into  exer¬ 
cise  the  bow-strings  and  the  blinding-irons  of  the  mutes  of  the  interior. 
There  was,  however,  little  possibility  either  of  flight  or  of  resistance.  The 
least  attempt  to  withdraw  himself  from  the  neighbourhood  of  those  faithful 
followers  of  the  Emperor,  personal  foes  of  his  own,  by  whom  he  was 
gradually  and  more  closely  surrounded,  became  each  moment  more  perilous, 
and  more  certain  to  provoke  a  rupture,  which  it  was  the  interest  of  the 
weaker  party  to  delay,  with  whatever  difficulty.  And  while  the  soldiers 
under  Achilles’s  immediate  authority  seemed  still  to  treat  him  as  their 
superior  officer,  and  appeal  to  him  for  the  word  of  command,  it  became 
more  and  more  evident  that  the  slightest  degree  of  suspicion  which  should 
be  excited,  would  be  the  instant  signal  for  his  being  placed  under  arrest. 
With  a  trembling  heart,  therefore,  and  eyes  dimmed  b^  the  powerful  idea 
of  soon  parting  with  the  light  of  day,  and  all  that  it  made  visible,  the 
Acolyte  saw  himself  condemned  to  watch  the  turn  of  circumstances  over 
which  he  could  have  no  influence,  and  to  content  himself  with  waiting  the 
result  of  a  drama,  in  which  his  own  life  was  concerned,  although  the  piece 
was  played  by  others.  Indeed,  it  seemed  as  if  through  the  whole  assembly 
some  signal  was  waited  for,  which  no  one  was  in  readiness  to  give. 

The  discontented  citizens  and  soldiers  looked  in  vain  for  Agelastes  and 
the  Caesar,  and  when  they  observed  the  condition  of  Achilles  Tatius,  it 
seemed  such  as  rather  to  express  doubt  and  consternation,  than  to  give  en¬ 
couragement  to  the  hopes  they  had  entertained.  Many  of  the  lower  classes, 
however,  felt  too  secure  in  their  own  insignificance  to  fear  the  personal  con¬ 
sequences  of  a  tumult,  and  were  desirous,  therefore,  to  provoke  the  disturb¬ 
ance,  which  seemed  hushing  itself  to  sleep. 

A  hoarse  murmur,  which  attained  almost  the  importance  of  a  shout, 
exclaimed, — “Justice,  justice  ! — Ursel,  Ursel ! — The  rights  of  the  Immortal 
Guards!”  &c.  At  this  the  trumpet  of  the  Varangians  awoke,  and  its  tre¬ 
mendous  tones  were  heard  to  peal  loudly  over  the  whole  assembly,  as  the 
voice  of  its  presiding  deity.  A  dead  silence  prevailed  in  the  multitude,  and 
the  voice  of  a  herald  announced,  in  the  name  of  Alexius  Comnenus,  his 
sovereign  will  and  pleasure. 

“  Citizens  of  the  Roman  Empire,  your  complaints,  stirred  up  by  factious 
men,  have  reached  the  ear  of.  your  Emperor ;  you  shall  yourselves  be  wit¬ 
ness  to  his  power  of  gratifying  his  people.  At  your  request,  and  before 
your  own  sight,  the  visual  ray  which  hath  been  quenched  shall  be  re-illu¬ 
mined —  the  mind  whose  efforts  were  restricted  to  the  imperfect  supply  of 
individual  wants  shall  be  again  extended,  if  such  is  the  owner’s  will,  to  the 
charge  of  an  ample  Theme  or  division  of  the  empire.  Political  jealousy, 
more  hard  to  receive  conviction  than  the  blind  to  receive  sight,  shall  yield 
itself  conquered,  by  the  Emperor’s  paternal  love  of  his  people,  and  his 
desire  to  give  them  satisfaction.  Ursel,  the  darling  of  your  wishes,  sup¬ 
posed  to  be  long  dead,  or  at  least  believed  to  exist  in  blinded  seclusion,  is 
restored  to  you  well  in  health,  clear  in  eyesight,  and  possessed  of  every 
faculty  necessary  to  adorn  the  Emperor’s  favour,  or  merit  the  affection  of 
the  people.” 

As  the  herald  thus  spoke,  a  figure,  which  had  hitherto  stood  shrouded 
behind  some  officers  of  the  interior,  now  stepped  forth,  and  flinging  from 


238 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


him  a  dusky  veil,  in  -which  he  was  wrapt,  appeared  in  a  dazzling  scarlet 
garment,  of  which  the  sleeves  and  buskins  displayed  those  ornaments  which 
expressed  a  rank  nearly  adjacent  to  that  of  the  Emperor  himself.  He  held 
in  his  hand  a  silver  truncheon,  the  badge  of  delegated  command  over  the 
Immortal  Guards,  and  kneeling  before  the  Emperor,  presented  it  to  his 
hands,  intimating  a  virtual  resignation  of  the  command  which  it  implied. 
The  whole  assembly  were  electrified  at  the  appearance  of  a  person  long 
supposed  either  dead,  or  by  cruel  means  rendered  incapable  of  public  trust. 
Some  recognised  the  man,  whose  appearance  and  features  were  not  easily 
forgot,  and  gratulated  him  upon  his  most  unexpected  return  to  the  service 
of  his  country.  Others  stood  suspended  in  amazement,  not  knowing  whether 
to  trust  their  eyes,  while  a  few  determined  malecontents  eagerly  pressed 
upon  the  assembly  an  allegation  that  the  person  presented  as  Ursel  was  only 
a  counterfeit,  and  the  -whole  a  trick  of  the  Emperor. 

“  Speak  to  them,  noble  Ursel, said  the  Emperor.  “  Tell  them,  that  if  I 
have  sinned  against  thee,  it  has  been  because  I  was  deceived,  and  that  my 
disposition  to  make  thee  anfends  is  as  ample  as  ever  was  my  purpose  of 
doing  thee  wrong.^^ 

“Friends  and  countrymen,’^  said  Ursel,  turning  himself  to  the  assem¬ 
bly,  “  his  Imperial  Majesty  permits  me  to  offer  my  assurance,  that  if  in  any 
former  part  of  my  life  I  have  suffered  at  his  hand,  it  is  more  than  wiped 
out  by  the  feelings  of  a  moment  so  glorious  as  this ;  and  that  I  am  well 
satisfied,  from  the  present  instant,  to  spend  what  remains  of  my  life  in  the 
service  of  the  most  generous  and  beneficent  of  sovereigns,  or,  with  his  per¬ 
mission,  to  bestow  it  in  preparing,  by  devotional  exercises,  for  an  infinite 
immortality  to  be  spent  in  the  society  of  saints  and  angels.  Whichever 
choice  I  shall  make,  I  reckon  that  you,  my  beloved  countrymen,  who  have 
remembered  me  so  kindly  during  years  of  darkness  and  captivity,  will  not 
fail  to  afford  me  the  advantage  of  your  prayers.” 

This  sudden  apparition  of  the  long-lost  Ursel  had  too  much  of  that  which 
elevates  and  surprises  not  to  captivate  the  multitude,  and  they  sealed  their 
reconciliation  with  three  tremendous  shouts,  which  are  said  to  have  shaken 
the  air,  that  birds,  incapable  of  sustaining  themselves,  sunk  down  exhausted 
out  of  their  native  element. 


Cljnptn  tilt 

“  What,  leave  the  combat  out !”  exclaimed  the  knight. 

“Yea!  or  we  must  renounce  the  Stagyrite. 

So  large  a  crowd  the  stage  will  ne’er  contain.” 

—  “Then  build  a  new,  or  act  it  on  a  plain.” 

Pope. 

The  sounds  of  the  gratulating  shout  had  expanded  over  the  distant  shores 
of  the  Bosphorus  by  mountain  and  forest,  and  died  at  length  in  the  farthest 
echoes,  when  the  people,  in  the  silence  which  ensued,  appeared  to  ask  each 
other  what  next  scene  was  about  to  adorn  a  pause  so  solemn  and  a  stage  so 
august.  The  pause  would  probably  have  soon  given  place  to  some  new 
clamour,  for  a  multitude,  from  whatever  cause  assembled,  seldom  remains 
long  silent,  had  not  a  new  signal  from  the  Varangian  trumpet  given  notice 
of  a  fresh  purpose  to  solicit  their  attention.  The  blast  had  something  in  its 
tone  spirit-stirring  and  yet  melancholy,  partaking  both  of  the  character  of 
a  point  of  war,  and  of  the  doleful  sounds  which  might  be  chosen  to  announce 
an  execution  of  peculiar  solemnity.  Its  notes  were  high  and  widely  extended. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS.  239 

and  prolonged  and  long  dwelt  upon,  as  if  the  brazen  clamour  had  been 
waked  by  something  more  tremendous  than  the  lungs  of  mere  mortals. 

The  multitude  appeared  to  acknowledge  these  awful  sounds,  which  were 
indeed  such  as  habitually  solicited  their  attention  to  Imperial  edicts,  of 
melancholy  import,  by  which  rebellions  were  announced,  dooms  of  treason 
discharged,  and  other  tidings  of  a  great  and  affecting  import  intimated  to 
the  people  of  Constantinople.  When  the  trumpet  had  in  its  turn  ceased, 
with  its  thrilling  and  doleful  notes,  to  agitate  the  immense  assembly,  the 
voice  of  the  herald  again  addressed  them. 

It  announced  in  a  grave  and  affecting  strain,  that  it  sometimes  chanced 
how”  the  people  failed  in  their  duty  to  a  sovereign,  who  was  unto  them  as 
a  father,  and  how  it  became  the  painful  duty  of  the  prince  to  use  the  rod  of 
correction  rather  than  the  olive  sceptre  of  mercy. 

“  Fortunate,”  continued  the  herald,  “  it  is,  wdien  the  supreme  Deity  having 
taken  on  himself  the  preservation  of  a  throne,  in  beneficence  and  justice 
resembling  his  own,  has  also  assumed  the  most  painful  task  of  his  earthly 
delegate,  by  punishing  those  whom  his  unerring  judgment  acknowledges 
as  most  guilty,  and  leaving  to  his  substitute  the  more  agreeable  task  of 
pardoning  such  of  those  as  art  has  misled,  and  treachery  hath  involved  in 
its  snares. 

“  Such  being  the  case,  Greece  and  its  accompanying  Themes  are  called 
upon  to  listen  and  learn  that  a  villain,  namely  Agelastes,  who  had 
insinuated  himself  into  the  favour  of  the  Emperor,  by  affection  of  deep 
knowledge  and  severe  virtue,  had  formed  a  treacherous  plan  for  the  murder 
of  the  Emperor  Alexius  Comnenus,  and  a  revolution  in  the  state.  This 
person,  who,  under  pretended  wisdom,  hid  the  doctrines  of  a  heretic  and 
the  vices  of  a  sensualist,  had  found  proselytes  to  his  doctrines  even  among 
the  Emperor’s  household,  and  those  persons  who  were  most  bound  to  him, 
and  down  to  the  lower  order,  to  excite  the  last  of  whom  were  dispersed  a 
multitude  of  forged  rumours,  similar  to  those  concerning  Ursel’s  death  and 
blindness,  of  which  your  own  eyes  have  witnessed  the  falsehood.” 

The  people,  W”ho  had  hitherto  listened  in  silence,  upon  this  appeal  broke 
forth  in  a  clamorous  assent.  They  had  scarcely  been  again  silent,  ere  the 
iron-voiced  herald  continued  his  proclamation. 

“Not  Korah,  Dathan,  and  Abiram,”  he  said,  “had  more  justly,  or  more 
directly  fallen  under  the  doom  of  an  offended  Deity,  than  this  villain,  Age¬ 
lastes.  The  steadfiist  earth  gaped  to  devour  the  apostate  sons  of  Israel,  but 
the  termination  of  this  wretched  man’s  existence  has  been,  as  fiir  as  can 
now  be  known,  by  the  direct  means  of  an  evil  spirit,  whom  his  own  arts  had 
evoked  into  the  upper  air.  By  the  spirit,  as  w'ould  appear  by  the  testimony 
of  a  noble  lady,  and  other  females,  who  wdtnessed  the  termination  of  his 
life,  Agelastes  was  strangled,  a  fate  well-becoming  his  odious  crimes.  Such 
a  death,  even  of  a  guilty  man,  must,  indeed,  be  most  painful  to  the  humane 
feelings  of  the  Emperor,  because  it  involves  sufiering  beyond  this  world. 
But  the  aw”ful  catastrophe  carries  with  it  this  comfort,  that  it  absolves  the 
Emperor  from  the  necessity  of  carrying  any  farther  a  vengeance  which 
Heaven  itself  seems  to  have  limited  to  the  exemplary  punishment  of  the 
principal  conspirator.  Some  changes  of  offices  and  situations  shall  be  made, 
for  the  sake  of  safety  and  good  order ;  but  the  secret  who  had  or  who  had 
not,  been  concerned  in  this  awful  crime,  shall  sleep  in  the  bosoms  of  the 
persons  themselves  implicated,  since  the  Emperor  is  determined  to  dismiss 
their  offence  from  his  memory,  as  the  effect  of  a  transient  delusion.  Let  all, 
therefore,  who  now  hear  me,  whatever  consciousness  they  may  possess  of  a 
knowledge  of  what  was  this  day  intended,  return  to  their  houses,  assured 
that  their  own  thoughts  will  be  their  only  punishment.  Let  them  rejoice 
that  Almighty  goodness  has  saved  them  from  the  meditations  of  their  own 
hearts,  and,  according  to  the  affecting  language  of  Scri])ture,  —  ‘  Lot  them 
repent  and  sin  no  more,  lest  a  worse  thing  befiill  them.’  ” 


240 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


The  voice  of  the  herald  then  ceased,  and  was  again  answered  by  the  shouts 
of  the  audience.  These  were  unanimous ;  for  circumstances  contributed  to 
convince  the  malecontent  party  that  they  stood  at  the  Sovereign's  mercy, 
and  the  edict  that  they  heard  having  shown  his  acquaintance  with  their 
guilt,  it  lay  at  his  pleasure  to  let  loose  upon  them  the  strength  of  the 
Varangians,  while,  from  the  terms  on  which  it  had  pleased  him  to  receive 
Tancred,  it  was  probable  that  the  Apuleian  forces  were  also  at  his  disposal. 

The  voices,  therefore,  of  the  bulky  Stephanos,  of  Ilarpax  the  centurion, 
and  other  rebels,  both  of  the  camp  and  city,  were  the  first  to  thunder  forth 
their  gratitude  for  the  clemency  of  the  Emperor,  and  their  thanks  to 
Heaven  for  his  preservation. 

The  audience,  reconciled  to  the  thoughts  of  the  discovered  and  frustrated 
conspiracy,  began  meantime,  according  to  their  custom,  to  turn  themselves 
to  the  consideration  of  the  matter  which  had  more  avowedly  called  them 
together,  and  private  whispers,  swelling  by  degrees  into  murmurs,  began  to 
express  the  dissatisfaction  of  the  citizens  at  being  thus  long  assembled, 
without  receiving  any  communication  respecting  the  announced  purpose  of 
their  meeting. 

Alexius  was  not  slow  to  perceive  the  tendency  of  their  thoughts ;  and, 
on  a  signal  from  his  hand,  the  trumpets  blew  a  point  of  war,  in  sounds  far 
more  lively  than  those  which  had  prefaced  the  Imperial  edict.  “  Robert, 
Count  of  Paris,^^  then  said  a  herald,  “  art  thou  here  in  thy  place,  or  by 
knightly  proxy,  to  answer  the  challenge  brought  against  thee  by  his  Impe¬ 
rial  Highness  Nicephorus  Briennius,  Csesar  of  this  empire?’^ 

The  Emperor  conceived  himself  to  have  equally  provided  against  the 
actual  appearance  at  this  call  of  either  of  the  parties  named,  and  had  pre¬ 
pared  an  exhibition  of  another  kind,  namely,  certain  cages,  tenanted  by 
wild  animals,  which  being  now  loosened  should  do  their  pleasure  with  each 
other  in  the  eyes  of  the  assembly.  His  astonishment  and  confusion,  there¬ 
fore,  were  great,  when,  as  the  last  note  of  the  proclamation  died  in  the  echo. 
Count  Robert  of  Paris  stood  forth,  armed  cap-a-pie,  his  mailed  charger  led 
behind  him  from  within  the  curtained  enclosure,  at  one  end  of  the  lists,  as 
if  ready  to  mount  at  the  signal  of  the  marshal. 

The  alarm  and  the  shame  that  were  visible  in  every  countenance  near  the 
Imperial  presence  when  no  Caesar  came  forth  in  like  fashion  to  confront  the 
formidable  Frank,  were  not  of  long  duration.  Hardly  had  the  style  and 
title  of  the  Count  of  Paris  been  duly  announced  by  the  heralds,  and  their 
second  summons  of  his  antagonist  uttered  in  due  form,  when  a  person, 
dressed  like  one  of  the  Varangian  Guards,  sprung  into  the  lists,  and  an¬ 
nounced  himself  as  ready  to  do  battle  in  the  name  and  place  of  the  Caesar 
Nicephorus  Briennius,  and  for  the  honour  of  the  empire. 

Alexius,  with  the  utmost  joy,  beheld  this  unexpected  assistance,  and 
readily  gave  his  consent  to  the  bold  soldier  who  stood  thus  forward  in  the 
hour  of  utmost  need,  to  take  upon  himself  the  dangerous  ofl&ce  of  champion. 
He  the  more  readily  acquiesced,  as,  from  the  size  and  appearance  of  the 
soldier,  and  the  gallant  bearing  he  displayed,  he  had  no  doubt  of  his  indi¬ 
vidual  person,  and  fully  confided  in  his  valour.  But  Prince  Tancred  inter¬ 
posed  his  opposition. 

“  The  lists, he  said,  “  were  only  open  to  knights  and  nobles ;  or,  at  any 
rate,  men  were  not  permitted  to  meet  therein  who  were  not  of  some  equality 
of  birth  and  blood ;  nor  could  he  remain  a  silent  witness  where  the  laws  of 
chivalry  are  in  such  respects  forgotten. 

“  Let  Count  Robert  of  Paris,^^  said  the  Varangian,  “look  upon  my  counte¬ 
nance,  and  say  whether  he  has  not,  by  promise,  removed  all  objection  to 
our  contest  which  might  be  founded  upon  an  inequality  of  condition,  and 
let  him  be  judge  himself,  whether,  by  meeting  me  in  this  field,  he  will 
do  more  than  comply  with  a  compact  which  he  has  long  since  become 
bound  by.^^ 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


241 

Count  Robert,  upon  this  appeal,  advanced  and  acknowled^^ed,  Muthout 
further  debate,  that,  notwithstanding  their  difference  of  rank,  he  held  him¬ 
self  bound  by  his  solemn  word  to  give  this  valiant  soldier  a  meeting  in  the 
field.  That  he  regretted,  on  account  of  this  gallant  man’s  eminent  virtues, 
and  the  high  services  he  had  received  at  his  hands,  that  they  should  now 
stand  upon  terms  of  such  bloody  arbitration  ;  but  since  nothing  was  more 
common,  than  that  the  fate  of  war  called  on  friends  to  meet  each  other  in 
mortal  combat,  he  would  not  shrink  from  the  engagement  he  had  pledged 
himself  to ;  nor  did  he  think  his  quality  in  the  slightest  degree  infringed  or 
diminished,  by  meeting  in  battle  a  wairrior  so  well  known  and  of  such  good 
account  as  llereward,  the  brave  Varangian.  lie  added,  that  “he  willingly 
admitted  that  the  combat  should  take  place  on  foot,  and  with  the  battle-axe, 
w'hich  was  the  ordinary  w'eapon  of  the  Varangian  guard.” 

llereward  had  stood  still,  almost  like  a  statue,  while  this  discourse  passed; 
but  when  the  Count  of  Paris  had  made  this  speech,  he  inclined  himself  to¬ 
wards  him  with  a  grateful  obeisance,  and  expressed  himself  honoured  and 
gratified  by  the  manly  manner  in  wdiich  the  Count  acquitted  himself,  accord¬ 
ing  to  his  promise,  with  complete  honour  and  fidelity. 

“  What  we  are  to  do,”  said  Count  Robert,  with  a  sigh  of  regret,  which 
even  his  love  of  battle  could  not  prevent,  “let  us  do  quickly;  the  heart  may 
be  afiected,  but  the  hand  must  do  its  duty.” 

llereward  assented,  wdth  the  additional  remark,  “  Let  us  then  lose  no 
more  time,  which  is  already  flying  fast.”  And,  grasping  his  axe,  he  stood 
prepared  for  combat. 

“  I  also  am  ready,”  said  Count  Robert  of  Paris,  taking  the  same  weapon 
from  a  Varangian  soldier,  who  stood  by  the  lists.  Both  were  immediately 
upon  the  alert,  nor  did  further  forms  or  circumstances  put  off  the  intended 
duel. 

The  first  blows  were  given  and  parried  with  great  caution,  and  Prince 
Tancred  and  others  thought  that  on  the  part  of  Count  Robert  the  caution 
was  much  greater  than  usual ;  but,  in  combat  as  in  food,  the  appetite  in¬ 
creases  with  the  exercise-  The  fiercer  passions  began,  as  usual,  to  awaken 
with  the  clash  of  arms  and  the  sense  of  deadly  blows,  some  of  w'hich  were 
made  with  great  fury  on  either  side,  and  parried  with  considerable  difficulty, 
and  not  so  completely  but  that  blood  flowed  on  both  their  parts.  The  Greeks 
looked  with  astonishment  on  a  single  combat,  such  as  they  had  seldom  wit¬ 
nessed,  and  held  their  breath  as  they  beheld  the  furious  blows  dealt  by  either 
W'arrior,  and  expected  with  each  stroke  the  annihilation  of  one  or  other  of 
the  combatants.  As  yet  their  strength  and  agility  seemed  somewhat  equally 
matched,  although  those  who  judged  with  more  pretension  to  knowledge, 
were  of  opinion,  that  Count  Robert  spared  putting  forth  some  part  of  the 
military  skill  for  which  he  was  celebrated ;  and  the  remark  was  generally 
made  and  allowed  that  he  had  surrendered  a  great  advantage  by  not  insist¬ 
ing  upon  his  right  to  fight  upon  horseback-  On  the  other  hand,  it  w’as  the 
general  opinion  that  the  gallant  Varangian  omitted  to  take  advantage  of 
one  or  two  opportunities  afforded  him  by  the  heat  of  Count  Robert’s  temper, 
who  obviously  was  incensed  at  the  duration  of  the  combat. 

Accident  at  length  seemed  about  to  decide  wdiat  had  been  hitherto  an 
equal  contest.  Count  Robert,  making  a  feint  on  one  side  of  his  antagonist, 
struck  him  on  the  other,  which  was  uncovered,  with  the  edge  of  his  Aveapon, 
so  that  the  Varangian  reeled,  and  seemed  in  the  act  of  falling  to  the  earth. 
The  usual  sound  made  by  spectators  at  the  sight  of  any  painful  or  unplea¬ 
sant  circumstance,  by  drawing  the  breath  betw'een  the  teeth,  was  suddenly 
heard  to  pass  through  the  assembly,  while  a  female  voice  loud  and  eagerly 
exclaimed, — “  Count  Robert  of  Paris ! — forget  not  this  day  that  thou  ow^est 
a  life  to  Heaven  and  me.”  The  Count  w*as  in  the  act  of  again  seconding  his 
blow,  wdth  what  effect  could  hardly  be  judged,  when  this  cry  reached  his 
ears,  and  apparently  took  away  his  disposition  for  farther  combat. 

VoL.  XII.  — 10  V 


242 


WAVER  LEY  NOVELS. 


“  I  acknowledge  the  debt/’  he  said,  sinking  his  battle-axe,  and  retreating 
two  steps  from  his  antagonist,  who  stood  in  astonishment,  scarcely  recovered 
from  the  stunning  effect  of  the  blow  by  which  he  was  so  nearly  prostrated. 
He  sank  the  blade  of  his  battle-axe  in  imitation  of  his  antagonist,  and 
seemed  to  wait  in  suspense  what  was  to  be  the  next  process  of  the  combat. 
“I  acknowledge  my  debt,”  said  the  valiant  Count  of  Paris,  “alike  to  Bertha 
of  Britain  and  to  the  Almighty,  who  has  preserved  me  from  the  crime  of  un¬ 
grateful  blood-guiltiness. — You  have  seen  the  fight,  gentlemen,”  turning  to 
Tancred  and  his  chivalry,  “and  can  testify,  on  your  honour,  that  it  has  been 
maintained  fairly  on  both  sides,  and  without  advantage  on  either.  I  pre¬ 
sume  my  honourable  antagonist  has  by  this  time  satisfied  the  desire  which 
brought  me  under  his  challenge,  and  which  certainly  had  no  taste  in  it  of 
personal  or  private  quarrel.  On  my  part,  I  retain  towards  him  such  a  sense 
of  personal  obligation  as  would  render  my  continuing  this  combat,  unless 
compelled  to  it  by  self-defence,  a  shameful  and  sinful  action.” 

Alexius  gladly  embraced  the  terms  of  truce,  which  he  was  far  from  ex¬ 
pecting,  and  threw  down  his  warder,  in  signal  that  the  duel  was  ended. 
Tancred,  though  somewhat  surprised,  and  perhaps  even  scandalized,  that  a 
private  soldier  of  the  Emperor’s  guard  should  have  so  long  resisted  the 
utmost  efforts  of  so  approved  a  knight,  could  not  but  own  that  the  combat 
had  been  fought  with  perfect  fairness  and  equality,  and  decided  upon  terms 
dishonourable  to  neither  party.  The  Count’s  character  being  well  known 
and  established  amongst  the  crusaders,  they  were  compelled  to  believe  that 
some  motive  of  a  most  potent  nature  formed  the  principle  upon  which,  very 
contrary  to  his  general  practice,  he  had  proposed  a  cessation  of  the  combat 
before  it  was  brought  to  a  deadly,  or  at  least  to  a  decisive  conclusion.  The 
edict  of  the  Emperor  upon  the  occasion,  therefore,  passed  into  a  law,  acknow¬ 
ledged  by  the  assent  of  the  chiefs  present,  and  especially  affirmed  and  gratu- 
lated  by  the  shouts  of  the  assembled  spectators. 

But  perhaps  the  most  interesting  figure  in  the  assembly  was  that  of  the 
bold  Varangian,  arrived  so  suddenly  at  a  promotion  of  military  renown, 
which  the  extreme  difficulty  he  had  experienced  in  keeping  his  ground 
against  Count  Robert  had  prevented  him  from  anticipating,  although  his 
modesty  had  not  diminished  the  indomitable  courage  wdth  which  he  main¬ 
tained  the  contest.  Pie  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  lists,  his  face  ruddy  with 
the  exertion  of  the  combat,  and  not  less  so  from  the  modest  consciousness 
proper  to  the  plainness  and  simplicity  of  his  character,  which  was  discon¬ 
certed  by  finding  himself  the  central  point  of  the  gaze  of  the  multitude. 

“  Speak  to  me,  my  soldier,”  said  Alexius,  strongly  affected  by  the  grati¬ 
tude  which  he  felt  wms  due  to  Hereward  upon  so  singular  an  occasion, 
“  speak  to  thine  Emperor  as  his  superior,  for  such  thou  art  at  this  moment, 
and  tell  him  if  there  is  any  manner,  even  at  the  expense  of  half  his  king¬ 
dom,  to  atone  for  his  own  life  saved,  and,  what  is  yet  dearer,  for  the  honour 
of  his  country,  which  thou  hast  so  manfully  defended  and  preserved?” 

“  My  Lord,”  answered  Hereward,  “your  Imperial  Highness  values  my 
poor  services  over  highly,  and  ought  to  attribute  them  to  the  noble  Count 
of  Paris,  first,  for  his  condescending  to  accept  of  an  antagonist  so  mean  in 
quality  as  myself;  and  next,  in  generously  relinquishing  victory  when  he 
might  have  achieved  it  by  an  additional  blow ;  for  I  here  confess  before 
your  Majesty,  my  brethren,  and  the  assembled  Grecians,  that  my  power  of 
protracting  the  combat  was  ended,  when  the  gallant  Count,  by  his  gene¬ 
rosity,  put  a  stop  to  it.” 

“Do  not  thyself  that  wrong,  brave  man,”  said  Count  Robert;  “for  I  vow 
to  our  Lady  of  the  Broken  Lances,  that  the  combat  was  yet  within  the 
undetermined  doom  of  Providence,  when  the  pressure  of  my  own  feelings 
rendered  me  incapable  of  continuing  it,  to  the  necessary  harm,  perhaps  to 
the  mortal  damage,  of  an  antagonist  to  whom  I  owe  so  much  kindness. 
Choose,  therefore,  the  recompense  which  the  generosity  of  thy  Emperor 


COUNT  ROUE  11 T  OF  PARIS. 


248 


offers  in  a  manner  so  just  and  grateful,  and  fear  not  lest  mortal  voice  pro¬ 
nounces  that  reward  unmerited  which  Robert  of  Paris  shall  avouch  with 
his  sword  to  have  been  gallantly  won  upon  his  own  crest.’' 

“  You  are  too  great,  my  lord,  and  too  noble,”  answered  the  Anglo-Saxon, 
“to  be  gainsaid  by  such  as  I  am,  and  I  must  not  awaken  new  strife  be¬ 
tween  us  by  contesting  the  circumstances  under  which  our  combat  so 
suddenly  closed,  nor  would  it  be  wise  or  prudent  in  me  further  to  contradict 
you.  iNIy  noble  Emperor  generously  offers  me  the  right  of  naming  what 
he  calls  my  recompense ;  but  let  not  his  generosity  be  dispraised,  although 
it  is  from  you,  my  lord,  and  not  from  his  Imperial  Highness,  that  I  am  to 
ask  a  boon,  to  me  the  dearest  to  which  my  voice  can  give  utterance.” 

“  And  that,”  said  the  Count,  “  has  reference  to  Bertha,  the  faithful 
attendant  of  my  wife  ?” 

“Even  so,”  said  llereward ;  “  it  is  my  proposal  to  request  my  discharge 
from  the  Varangian  guard,  and  permission  to  share  in  your  lordship’s 
pious  and  honourable  vow  for  the  recovery  of  Palestine,  with  liberty  to 
fight  under  your  honoured  banner,  and  permission  from  time  to  time  to  re¬ 
commend  my  love-suit  to  Bertha,  the  attendant  of  the  Countess  of  Paris, 
and  the  hope  that  it  may  find  favour  in  the  eyes  of  her  noble  lord  and  lady. 
I  may  thus  finally  hope  to  be  restored  to  a  country,  which  I  have  never 
ceased  to  love  over  the  rest  of  the  world.” 

“  Thy  service,  noble  soldier,”  said  the  Count,  “  shall  be  as  acceptable  to 
me  as  that  of  a  born  earl ;  nor  is  there  an  opportunity  of  acquiring  honour 
which  I  can  shape  for  thee,  to  which,  as  it  occurs,  I  will  not  gladly  prefer 
thee.  I  'will  not  boast  of  what  interest  I  have  with  the  King  of  England, 
but  something  I  can  do  with  him,  and  it  shall  be  strained  to  the  uttermost 
to  settle  thee  in  thine  own  beloved  native  country.” 

The  Emperor  then  spoke.  “  Bear  witness,  heaven  and  earth,  and  you 
my  faithful  subjects,  and  you  my  gallant  allies ;  above  all,  you  my  bold 
and  true  Varangian  Guard,  that  we  would  rather  have  lost  the  brightest 
jewel  from  our  Imperial  crown,  than  have  relinquished  the  service  of  this 
true  and  faithful  Anglo-Saxon.  But  since  go  he  must  and  will,  it  shall  be 
my  study  to  distinguish  him  by  such  mai’ks  of  beneficence  as  may  make  it 
known  through  his  future  life,  that  he  is  the  person  to  whom  the  Emperor 
Alexius  Comnenus  acknowledged  a  debt  larger  than  his  empire  could  dis¬ 
charge.  You,  my  Lord  Tancred,  and  your  principal  leaders,  will  sup  with 
us  this  evening,  and  to-morrow  resume  your  honourable  and  religious  pur¬ 
pose  of  pilgrimage.  We  trust  both  the  combatants  will  also  oblige  us  by 
their  presence. — Trupipets,  give  the  signal  for  dismission.” 

The  trumpets  sounded  accordingly,  and  the  difierent  classes  of  spectators, 
armed  and  unarmed,  broke  up  into  various  parties,  or  formed  into  their 
military  ranks,  for  the  purpose  of  their  return  to  the  city. 

The  screams  of  women  suddenly  and  strangely  raised,  was  the  first  thing 
that  arrested  the  departure  of  the  multitude,  when  those  wdio  glanced  their 
eyes  back,  saw  Sylvan,  the  great  ourang-outang,  produce  himself  in  the 
lists,  to  their  surprise  and  astonishment.  The  women,  and  many  of  the 
men  who  were  present,  unaccustomed  to  the  ghastly  look  and  savage  ap¬ 
pearance  of  a  creature  so  extraordinary,  raised  a  yell  of  terror  so  loud, 
that  it  discomposed  the  animal  who  was  the  occasion  of  its  being  raised. 
Sylvan,  in  the  course  of  the  night,  having  escaped  over  the  garden-wall  of 
Agelastes,  and  clambered  over  the  rampart  of  the  city,  found  no  difficulty 
in  hiding  himself  in  the  lists  which  were  in  the  act  of  being  raised,  having 
found  a  lurking-place  in  some  dark  corner  under  the  seats  of  the  spectators. 
From  this  he  was  probably  dislodged  by  the  tumult  of  the  dispersing  multi¬ 
tude,  and  had  been  compelled,  therefore,  to  make  an  appearance  in  public 
when  he  least  desired  it,  not  unlike  that  of  the  celebrated  Puliccinello,  at 
the  conclusion  of  his  own  drama,  when  he  enters  in  mortal  strife  with  the 
foul  fiend  himself,  a  scene  which  scarcely  excites  more  terror  among  the 


244 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


juvenile  audience,  than  did  the  unexpected  apparition  of  Sylvan  among 
the  spectators  of  the  duel.  Bows  were  bent,  and  javelins  pointed  by  the 
braver  part  of  the  soldiery,  against  an  animal  of  an  appearance  so  am¬ 
biguous,  and  whom  his  uncommon  size  and  grizzly  look  caused  most  who 
beheld  him  to  suppose  either  the  devil  himself,  or  the  apparition  of  some 
fiendish  deity  of  ancient  days,  whom  the  heathens  worshipped.  Sylvan 
had  so  far  improved  such  opportunities  as  had  been  afibrded  him,  as  to  be¬ 
come  sufficiently  aware  that  the  attitudes  assumed  by  so  many  military 
men,  inferred  immediate  danger  to  his  person,  from  which  he  hastened  to 
shelter  himself  by  flying  to  the  protection  of  Hereward,  with  whom  he 
had  been  in  some  degree  familiarized.  lie  seized  him,  accordingly,  by  the 
cloak,  and,  by  the  absurd  and  alarmed  look  of  his  fantastic  features,  and  a 
certain  wild  and  gibbering  chatter,  endeavoured  to  express  his  fear  and  to 
ask  protection.  Hereward  understood  the  terrified  creature,  and  turning  to 
the  Emperor’s  throne,  said  aloud,  —  “  Poor  frightened  being,  turn  thy 
petition,  and  gestures,  and  tones,  to  a  quarter  which,  having  to-day  pardoned 
so  many  offences  which  were  wilfully  and  maliciously  schemed,  will  not  be, 

I  am  sure,  obdurate  to  such  as  thou,  in  thy  half-reasoning  capacity,  may 
have  been  capable  of  committing.” 

The  creature,  as  is  the  nature  of  its  tribe,  caught  from  Hereward  him¬ 
self  the  mode  of  applying  with  most  effect  his  gestures  and  pitiable  sup¬ 
plication,  while  the  Emperor,  notwithstanding  the  serious  scene  which  had 
just  past,  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  touch  of  comedy  flung  into  it  by 
this  last  incident. 

“My  trusty  Hereward,”  —  he  said  aside,  (“  I  will  not  again  call  him 
Edward  if  I  can  help  it) — thou  art  the  refuge  of  the  distressed,  whether  it 
be  man  or  beast,  and  nothing  that  sues  through  thy  intercession,  while 
thou  remainest  in  our  service,  shall  find  its  supplication  in  vain.  Do  thou, 
good  Hereward,”  for  the  name  was  now  pretty  well  established  in  his  Im¬ 
perial  memory,  “  and  such  of  thy  companions  as  know  the  habits  of  the 
creature,  lead  him  back  to  his  old  quarters  in  the  Blacquernal ;  and  that 
done,  my  friend,  observe  that  we  request  thy  company,  and  that  of  thy 
faithful  mate  Bertha,  to  partake  supper  at  our  court,  with  our  wife  and 
daughter,  and  such  of  our  servants  and  allies  as  we  shall  request  to  share 
the  same  honour.  Be  assured,  that  while  thou  remainest  with  us,  there  is 
no  point  of  dignity  which  shall  not  be  willingly  paid  to  thee. — And  do  thou 
approach,  Achilles  Tatius,  as  much  favoured  by  thine  Emperor  as  before 
this  day  dawned.  What  charges  are  against  thee  have  been-  only  whispered 
in  a  friendly  ear,  which  remembers  them  not,  unless  (which  Heaven  fore- 
fend!)  their  remembrance  is  renewed  by  fresh  offences.” 

Achilles  Tatius  bowed  till  the  plume  of  his  helmet  mingled  with  the 
mane  of  his  fiery  horse,  but  held  it  wisest  to  forbear  any  answer  in  words, 
leaving  his  crime  and  his  pardon  to  stand  upon  those  general  terms  in 
which  the  Emperor  had  expressed  them. 

Once  more  the  multitude  of  all  ranks  returned  on  their  way  to  the  city, 
nor  did  any  second  interruption  arrest  their  march.  Sylvan,  accompanied 
by  one  or  two  Varangians,  who  led  him  in  a  sort  of  captivit}^  took  his  way 
to  the  vaults  of  the  Blacquernal,  which  were  in  fact  his  proper  habitation. 

Upon  the  road  to  the  city,  Harpax,  the  notorious  corporal  of  the  Immortal 
Guards,  held  a  discourse  with  one  or  two  of  his  own  soldiers,  and  of  the 
citizens  who  had  been  members  of  the  late  conspiracy. 

“  So,”  said  Stephanos,  the  prize-fighter,  “  a  fine  affair  we  have  made  of 
it,  to  suffer  ourselves  to  be  all  anticipated  and  betrayed  by  a  thick-sculled 
Varangian  ;  every  chance  turning  against  us  as  they  would  against  Corydon, 
the  shoemaker,  if  he  were  to  defy  me  to  the  circus.  Ursel,  whose  death 
made  so  much  work,  turns  out  not  to  be  dead  after  all ;  and  what  is  worse, 
he  lives  not  to  our  advantage.  This  fellow  Hereward,  who  was  yesterday 
no  better  than  myself — What  do  I  say?  —  better!  —  he  M'as  a  great  deal 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


245 


worse  —  an  insignificant  nobody  in  every  respect!  —  is  now  crammed  with 
honours,  praises,  and  gifts,  till  he  wellnigh  returns  what  they  have  given 
him,  and  the  Coesar  and  the  Acolyte,  our  associates,  have  lost  the  Emperor's 
love  and  confidence,  and  if  they  are  sufiered  to  survive,  it  must  be  like  the 
tame  domestic  poultry,  whom  we  pamper  with  food,  one  day,  that  upon  the 
next  their  necks  may  be  twisted  for  spit  or  spot." 

“  Stephanos,"  replied  the  centurion,  “  thy  form  of  body  fits  thee  well  for 
the  Palaestra,  but  thy  mind  is  not  so  acutely  formed  as  to  detect  that  which 
is  real  from  that  which  is  only  probable,  in  the  political  world,  of  which 
thou  art  now  judging.  Considering  the  risk  incurred  by  lending  a  man's 
ear  to  a  conspiracy,  thou  oughtest  to  reckon  it  a  saving  in  every  particular, 
w'here  he  escapes  with  his  life  and  character  safe.  This  has  been  the  case 
with  Achilles  Tatius,  and  wdth  the  Cmsar.  They  have  remained  also  in 
their  high  places  of  trust  and  power,  and  may  be  confident  that  the  Emperor 
will  hardly  dare  to  remove  them  at  a  future  period,  since  the  possession  of 
the  full  knowledge  of  their  guilt  has  not  emboldened  him  to  do  so.  Their 
power,  thus  left  with  them,  is  in  fact  ours  ;  nor  is  there  a  circumstance  to 
be  supposed,  which  can  induce  them  to  betray  their  confederates  to  the 
government.  It  is  much  more  likely  that  they  will  remember  them  with 
the  probability  of  renewing,  at  a  finer  time,  the  alliance  which  binds  them 
together.  Cheer  up  thy  noble  resolution,  therefore,  my  Prince  of  the  Circus, 
and  think  that  thou  shalt  still  retain  that  predominant  influence  which  the 
favourites  of  the  amphitheatre  are  sure  to  possess  over  the  citizens  of  Con¬ 
stantinople." 

“  I  cannot  tell,"  answered  Stephanos  ;  “  but  it  gnaws  at  my  heart  like  the 
worm  that  dieth  not,  to  see  this  beggarly  foreigner  betray  the  noblest  blood 
in  the  land,  not  to  mention  the  best  athlete  in  the  Palaestra,  and  move  off 
not  only  without  punishment  for  his  treachery,  but  with  praise,  honour,  and 
preferment." 

“True,"  said  Harpax;  “but  observe,  my  friend,  that  he  does  move  off  to 
purpose,  lie  leaves  the  land,  quits  the  corps  in  which  he  might  claim  pre¬ 
ferment  and  a  few  vain  honours,  being  valued  at  what  such  trifles  amount 
to.  llereward,  in  the  course  of  one  or  two  days,  shall  be  little  better  than 
a  disbanded  soldier,  subsisting  by  the  poor  bread  which  he  can  obtain  as  a 
follower  of  this  beggarly  Count,  or  which  he  is  rather  bound  to  dispute  with  the 
infidel,  by  encountering  with  his  battle-axe  the  Turkish  sabres.  What  will 
it  avail  him  amidst  the  disasters,  the  slaughter,  and  the  famine  of  Palestine, 
that  he  once  upon  a  time  was  admitted  to  supper  with  the  Emperor?  We 
know  Alexius  Comnenus  —  he  is  willing  to  discharge,  at  the  highest  cost, 
such  obligations  as  are  incurred  to  men  like  this  llereward  ;  and,  believe 
me,  I  think  that  I  see  the  wily  despot  shrug  his  shoulders  in  derision,  when 
one  morning  he  is  saluted  with  the  news  of  a  battle  in  Palestine  lost  by  the 
crusaders  in  which  his  old  acquaintance  has  fallen  a  dead  man.  I  will  not 
insult  thee,  by  telling  thee  how  easy  it  might  be  to  acquire  the  favour  of  a 
gentlewoman  in  waiting  upon  a  lady  of  quality ;  nor  do  I  think  it  would 
be  difficult,  should  that  be  the  object  of  the  prize-fighter,  to  acquire  the 
property  of  a  large  baboon  like  Sylvan,  which  no  doubt  would  set  up  as  a 
juggler  any  Frank  who  had  meanness  of  spirit  to  propose  to  gain  his  bread 
in  such  a  capacity,  from  the  alms  of  the  starving  chivalry  of  Europe.  But 
he  who  can  stoop  to  envy  the  lot  of  such  a  person,  ought  not  to  be  one  whose 
chief  personal  distinctions  are  sufficient  to  place  him  first  in  rank  over  all 
the  fixvou rites  of  the  amphitheatre." 

There  was  something  in  this  sophistical  kind  of  reasoning,  which  was  but 
half  satisfactory  to  the  obtuse  intellect  of  the  prize-fighter,  to  whom  it  was 
addressed,  although  the  only  answer  which  he  attempted  was  couched  in 
this  observation :  — 

“  Ay,  but,  noble  centurion,  you  forget  that,  besides  empty  honours,  this 

V  2 


246 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


Varangian  Hereward,  or  Edward,  whichever  is  his  name,  is  promised  a 
mighty  donative  of  gold.” 

“  Marry,  you  touch  me  there,”  said  the  centurion ;  “  and  when  you  tell 
me  that  the  promise  is  fulfilled,  I  will  willingly  agree  that  the  Anglo-Saxon 
hath  gained  something  to  be  envied  for;  but  while  it  remains  in  the  shape 
of  a  naked  promise,  you  shall  pardon  me,  my  worthy  Stephanos,  if  I  hold 
it  of  no  more  account  than  the  mere  pledges  which  are  distributed  among 
ourselves  as  well  as  to  the  Varangians,  promising  upon  future  occasions 
mints  of  money,  which  we  are  likely  to  receive  at  the  same  time  with  the 
last  year’s  snow.  Keep  up  your  heart,  therefore,  noble  Stephanos,  and 
believe  not  that  your  affairs  are  worse  for  the  miscarriage  of  this  day ;  and 
let  not  thy  gallant  courage  sink,  but  remembering  those  principles  upon 
w'hich  it  was  called  into  action,  believe  that  thy  objects  are  not  the  less  secure 
because  fate  has  removed  their  acquisition  to  a  more  distant  day.”  The 
veteran  and  unbending  conspirator,  Harpax,  thus  strengthened  for  some 
future  renewal  of  their  enterprise  the  failing  spirits  of  Stephanos. 

After  this,  such  leaders  as  were  included  in  the  invitation  given  by  the 
Emperor,  repaired  to  the  evening  meal,  and,  from  the  general  content  and 
complaisance  expressed  by  Alexius  and  his  guests  of  every  description,  it 
could  little  have  been  supposed  that  the  day  just  passed  over  was  one  which 
had  inferred  a  purpose  so  dangerous  and  treacherous. 

The  absence  of  the  Countess  Brenhilda,  during  this  eventful  day,  created 
no  small  surprise  to  the  Emperor  and  those  in  his  immediate  confidence, 
who  knew  her  enterprising  spirit,  and  the  interest  she  must  have  felt  in  the 
issue  of  the  combat.  Bertha  had  made  an  early  communication  to  the 
Count,  that  his  lady,  agitated  with  the  many  anxieties  of  the  few  preceding 
days,  was  unable  to  leave  her  apartment.  The  valiant  knight,  therefore, 
lost  no  time  in  acquainting  his  faithful  Countess  of  his  safety ;  and  after¬ 
wards  joining  those  who  partook  of  the  banquet  at  the  palace,  he  bore  him¬ 
self  as  if  the  least  recollection  did  not  remain  on  his  mind  of  the  perfidious 
conduct  of  the  Emperor  at  the  conclusion  of  the  last  entertainment.  He 
knew,  in  truth,  that  the  knights  of  Prince  Tancred  not  only  maintained  a 
strict  watch  round  the  house  where  Brenhilda  remained,  but  also  that  they 
preserved  a  severe  ward  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Blacquernal,  as  well 
for  the  safety  of  their  heroic  leader,  as  for  that  of  Count  Robert,  the  respected 
companion  of  their  military  pilgrimage. 

It  was  the  general  principle  of  the  European  chivalry,  that  distrust  was 
rarely  permitted  to  survive  open  quarrels,  and  that  whatever  was  forgiven, 
was  dismissed  from  their  recollection,  as  unlikely  to  recur ;  but  on  the  pre¬ 
sent  occasion  there  was  a  more  than  usual  assemblage  of  troops,  which  the 
occurrences  of  the  day  had  drawn  together,  so  that  the  crusaders  were 
called  upon  to  be  particularly  watchful. 

It  may  be  believed  that  the  evening  passed  over  without  any  attempt  to 
renew  the  ceremonial  in  the  council  chamber  of  the  Lions,  which  had  been 
upon  a  former  occasion  terminated  in  such  misunderstanding.  Indeed  it 
would  have  been  lucky  if  the  explanation  between  the  mighty  Emperor  of 
Greece  and  the  chivalrous  Knight  of  Paris  had  taken  place  earlier ;  for  re¬ 
flection  on  what  had  passed,  had  convinced  the  Emperor  that  the  Franks 
were  not  a  people  to  be  imposed  upon  by  pieces  of  clockwork,  and  similar 
trifles,  and  that  what  they  did  not  understand,  w'as  sure,  instead  of  pro¬ 
curing  their  awe  or  admiration,  to  excite  their  anger  and  defiance.  Nor 
had  it  altogether  escaped  Count  Robert,  that  the  manners  of  the  Eastern 
people  were  upon  a  different  scale  from  those  to  which  he  had  been  accus¬ 
tomed  ;  that  they  neither  were  so  deeply  affected  by  the  spirit  of  chivalry, 
nor,  in  his  own  language,  was  the  worship  of  the  Lady  of  the  Broken  Lances 
so  congenial  a  subject  of  adoration.  This  notwithstanding,  Count  Robert 
observed,  that  Alexius  Comnenus  was  a  wise  and  politic  prince  ;  his  wisdom 
perhaps  too  much  allied  to  cunning,  but  yet  aiding  him  to  maintain  with 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


247 

great  address  that  empire  over  the  minds  of  his  subjects,  which  was  neces¬ 
sary  for  their  good,  and  for  maintaining  his  own  authority.  lie  therefore 
resolved  to  receive  with  equanimity  whatever  should  be  offered  by  the  Em¬ 
peror,  either  in  civility  or  in  the  way  of  jest,  and  not  again  to  disturb  an 
understanding  which  might  be  of  advantage  to  Christendom,  by  a  quarrel 
founded  upon  misconception  of  terms  or  misapprehension  of  manners.  To 
this  prudent  resolution  tho^  Count  of  Paris  adhered  during  the  whole 
evening ;  with  some  difficulty,  however,  since  it  was  somewhat  inconsistent 
with  his  own  fiery  and  inquisitive  temper,  which  was  equally  desirous  to 
know  the  precise  amount  of  whatever  was  addressed  to  him,  and  to  take 
umbrage  at  it,  should  it  appear  in  the  least  degree  offensive,  whether  so 
intended  or  not. 


(ClinptBr  tliE  '®ljirtii-/Diirtli. 

It  was  not  until  after  the  conquest  of  Jerusalem  that  Count  Kobert  of 
Paris  returned  to  Constantinople,  and  with  his  wife,  and  such  proportion 
of  his  followers  as  the  sword  and  pestilence  had  left  after  that  bloody  war¬ 
fare,  resumed  his  course  to  his  native  kingdom.  Upon  reaching  Italy,  the 
first  care  of  the  noble  Count  and  Countess  was  to  celebrate  in  princely  style 
the  marriage  of  Ilereward  and  his  faithful  Bertha,  who  had  added  to  their 
other  claims  upon  their  master  and  mistress,  those  acquired  by  Ilereward’s 
faithful  services  in  Palestine,  and  no  less  by  Bertha’s  affectionate  ministry 
to  her  lady  in  Constantinople. 

As  to  the  fate  of  Alexius  Comnenus,  it  may  be  read  at  large  in  the  his¬ 
tory  of  his  daughter  Anna,  who  has  represented  him  as  the  hero  of  many 
a  victory,  achieved,  says  the  purple-born,  in  the  third  chapter  and  fifteenth 
book  of  her  history,  sometimes  by  his  arms  and  sometimes  by  his  prudence. 

“  Ilis  boldness  alone  has  gained  some  battles,  at  other  times  his  success 
has  been  won  by  stratagem.  He  has  erected  the  most  illustrious  of  his 
trophies  by  confronting  danger,  by  combating  like  a  simple  soldier,  and 
throwing  himself  bareheaded  into  the  thickest  of  the  foe.  But  there  are 
others,”  continues  the  accomplished  lady,  “  which  he  gained  an  opportunity 
of  erecting  by  assuming  the  appearance  of  terror,  and  even  of  retreat. 
In  a  word,  he  knew  alike  how  to  triumph  either  in  flight  or  in  pursuit,  and 
remained  upright  even  before  those  enemies  who  appeared  to  have  struck 
him  down ;  resembling  the  military  implement  termed  the  calthrop,  which 
remains  always  upright  in  whatever  direction  it  is  thrown  on  the  ground.” 

It  would  be  unjust  to  deprive  the  Princess  of  the  defence  she  herself 
makes  against  the  obvious  charge  of  partiality. 

“  I  must  still  once  more  repel  the  reproach  which  some  bring  against  me, 
as  if  my  history  was  composed  merely  according  to  the  dictates  of  the 
natural  love  for  parents  which  is  engraved  in  the  hearts  of  children.  In 
truth,  it  is  not  the  effect  of  that  affection  which  I  bear  to  mine,  but  it  is  the 
evidence  of  matter  of  fact,  which  obliges  me  to  speak  as  I  have  done.  Is 
it  not  possible  that  one  can  have  at  the  same  time  an  affection  for  the  me¬ 
mory  of  a  father  and  for  truth?  For  myself,  I  have  never  directed  my 
attempt  to  write  history,  otherwise  than  for  the  ascertainment  of  the  matter 
of  fact.  With  this  purpose,  I  have  taken  for  my  subject  the  history  of  a 
worthy  man.  Is  it  just,  that,  by  the  single  accident  of  his  being  the  author 
of  my  birth,  his  quality  of  my  father  ought  to  form  a  prejudice  against  me, 
which  would  ruin  my  credit  with  my  readers?  I  have  given,  upon  other 
occasions,  proofs  sufficiently  strong  of  the  ardour  which  1  had  fur  the  de- 


248 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


fence  of  my  father’s  interests,  •which  those  that  know  me  can  never  doubt ; 
but,  on  the  present,  I  have  been  limited  by  the  inviolable  fidelity  with  which 
I  respect  the  truth,  which  I  should  have  felt  conscience  to  have  veiled, 
under  pretence  of  serving  the  renown  of  my  father.” — Alexiad,  chap.  iii. 
book  XV. 

This  much  we  have  deemed  it  our  duty  to  quote,  in  justice  to  the  fair 
historian  ;  we  will  extract  also  her  description  of  the  Emperor’s  death,  and 
are  not  unwilling  to  allow,  that  the  character  assigned  to  the  Princess  by 
our  own  Gibbon,  has  in  it  a  great  deal  of  fairness  and  of  truth. 

Notwithstanding  her  repeated  protests  of  sacrificing  rather  to  the  exact 
and  absolute  truth  than  to  the  memory  of  her  deceased  parent.  Gibbon  re¬ 
marks  truly,  that  “  instead  of  the  simplicity  of  style  and  narrative  which 
wins  a  belief,  an  elaborate  afiectation  of  rhetoric  and  science  betrays  in 
every  page  the  vanity  of  a  female  author.  The  genuine  character  of  Alexius 
is  lost  in  a  vague  constellation  of  virtues  ;  and  the  perpetual  strain  of  pane¬ 
gyric  and  apology  awakens  our  jealousy  to  question  the  veracity  of  the  his¬ 
torian,  and  the  merit  of  the  hero.  We  cannot,  however,  refuse  her  judicious 
and  important  remark,  that  the  disorders  of  the  times  were  the  misfortune 
and  the  glory  of  Alexius ;  and  that  every  calamity  which  can  afflict  a  de¬ 
clining  empire  was  accumulated  on  his  reign  by  the  justice  of  Heaven  and 
the  vices  of  his  predecessors.”  —  Gibbon’s  Roman  Empire,  vol.  ix.  p.  83, 
foot-note. 

The  Princess  accordingly  feels  the  utmost  assurance,  that  a  number  of 
signs  which  appeared  in  heaven  and  on  earth,  were  interpreted  by  the  sooth¬ 
sayers  of  the  day  as  foreboding  the  death  of  the  Emperor.  By  these  means, 
Anna  Comnena  assigned  to  her  father  those  indications  of  consequence, 
which  ancient  historians  represent  as  necessary  intimations  of  the  sympathy 
of  nature,  with  the  removal  of  great  characters  from  the  world  ;  but  she 
fails  not  to  inform  the  Christian  reader  that  her  father’s  belief  attached  to 
none  of  these  prognostics,  and  that  even  on  the  following  remarkable  occa¬ 
sion  he  maintained  his  incredulity : — A  splendid  statue,  supposed  generally 
to  be  a  relic  of  paganism,  holding  in  its  hand  a  golden  sceptre,  and  stand¬ 
ing  upon  a  base  of  porphyry,  was  overturned  by  a  tempest,  and  was  gene¬ 
rally  believed  to  be  an  intimation  of  the  death  of  the  Emperor.  This,  how¬ 
ever,  he  generously  repelled.  Phidias,  he  said,  and  other  great  sculptors 
of  antiquity,  had  the  talent  of  imitating  the  human  frame  with  surprising 
accuracy ;  but  to  suppose  that  the  power  of  foretelling  future  events  was 
reposed  in  these  master-pieces  of  art,  would  be  to  ascribe  to  their  makers 
the  faculties  reserved  by  the  Deity  for  himself,  when  he  says,  “  It  is  I  who 
kill  and  make  alive.”  During  his  latter  days,  the  Emperor  was  greatly 
afflicted  with  the  gout,  the  nature  of  which  has  exercised  the  wit  of  many 
persons  of  science  as  well  as  of  xinna  Comnena.  The  poor  patient  was  so 
much  exhausted,  that  when  the  Empress  was  talking  of  most  eloquent  per¬ 
sons  who  should  assist  in  the  composition  of  his  history,  he  said,  with  a 
natural  contempt  of  such  vanities,  “  The  passages  of  my  unhappy  life  call 
rather  for  tears  and  lamentation  than  for  the  praises  you  speak  of.” 

A  species  of  asthma  having  come  to  the  assistance  of  the  gout,  the  reme¬ 
dies  of  the  physicians  became  as  vain  as  the  intercession  of  the  monks  and 
clergy,  as  well  as  the  alms  which  were  indiscriminately  lavished.  Two  or 
three  deep  successive  swoons  gave  ominous  warning  of  the  approaching 
blow ;  and  at  length  was  terminated  the  reign  and  life  of  Alexius  Cora- 
nenus,  a  prince  who,  with  all  the  faults  which  may  be  imputed  to  him,  still 
possesses  a  real  right,  from  the  purity  of  his  general  intentions,  to  be  ac¬ 
counted  one  of  the  best  sovereigns  of  the  Lower  Empire. 

For  some  time,  the  historian  forgot  her  pride  of  literary  rank,  and,  like 
an  ordinary  person,  burst  into  tears  and  shrieks,  tore  her  hair,  and  defaced 
her  countenance,  while  the  Empress  Irene  cast  from  her  her  princely  habits, 
cut  off  her  hair,  changed  her  purple  buskins  for  black  mourning  shoes,  and 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


249 


her  daughter  Mary,  who  had  herself  been  a  widow,  took  a  black  robe  from 
one  of  her  own  wardrobes,  and  presented  it  to  her  mother.  “  Even  in  the 
moment  when  she  put  it  on,^'  says  Anna  Comnena,  “the  Emperor  gave  up 
the  ghost,  and  in  that  moment  the  sun  of  my  life  set.^^ 

AVe  shall  not  pursue  her  lamentations  farther.  She  upbraids  herself  that, 
after  the  death  of  her  father,  that  light  of  the  world,  she  had  also  survived 
Irene,  the  delight  alike  of  the  east  and  of  the  west,  and  survived  her  hus¬ 
band  also.  “  I  am  indignant,'^  she  said,  “  that  my  soul,  suffering  under 
such  torrents  of  misfortune,  should  still  deign  to  animate  my  body.  Have 
I  not,’^  said  she,  “  been  more  hard  and  unfeeling  than  the  rocks  themselves  ; 
and  is  it  not  just  that  one,  who  could  survive  such  a  father  and  mother,  and 
such  a  husband,  should  be  subjected  to  the  influence  of  so  much  calamity? 
But  let  me  finish  this  history,  rather  than  any  longer  fatigue  my  readers 
with  my  unavailing  and  tragical  lamentation.^’ 

Having  thus  concluded  her  history,  she  adds  the  following  two  lines :  — 

“The  learned  Comnena  lays  her  pen  aside. 

What  lime  her  subject  and  her  father  died.”* 

These  quotations  will  probably  give  the  readers  as  much  as  they  wish  to 
know  of  the  real  character  of  this  Imperial  historian.  Fewer  words  will 
suffice  to  dispose  of  the  other  parties  who  have  been  selected  from  her  pages, 
as  persons  in  the  foregoing  drama. 

There  is  very  little  doubt  that  the  Count  Robert  of  Paris,  whose  audacity 
in  seating  himself  upon  the  throne  of  the  Emperor  gives  a  peculiar  interest 
to  his  character,  w'as  in  fact  a  person  of  the  highest  rank ;  being  no  other, 
as  has  been  conjectured  by  the  learned  Du  Cange,  than  an  ancestor  of  the 
house  of  Bourbon,  which  has  so  long  given  Kings  to  France.  He  was  a 
successor,  it  has  been  conceived,  of  the  Counts  of  Paris,  by  whom  the  city 
was  valiantly  defended  against  the  Normans,  and  an  ancestor  of  Hugh 
Capet.  There  are  several  hypotheses  upon  this  subject,  deriving  the  well- 
known  Hugh  Capet,  first,  from  the  family  of  Saxony ;  secondly,  from  St. 
Arnoul,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Altex ;  third,  from  NibiJong;  fourth,  from 
the  Duke  of  Bavaria ;  and  fifth,  from  a  natural  son  of  the  Emperor  Char¬ 
lemagne.  Variously  placed,  but  in  each  of  these  contested  pedigrees,  ap¬ 
pears  this  Robert  surnamed  the  Strong,  wdio  w^as  Count  of  that  district,  of 
which  Paris  was  the  capital,  most  peculiarly  styled  the  County,  or  Isle  of 
France.  Anna  Comnena,  who  has  recorded  the  bold  usurpation  of  the 
Emperor’s  seat  by  this  haughty  chieftain,  has  also  acquainted  us  with  bis 
receiving  a  severe,  if  not  a  mortal  Avound,  at  the  battle  of  Dorylceum,  owing 
to  his  neglecting  the  warlike  instructions  with  wdiich  her  father  had  favoured 
him  on  the  subject  of  the  Turkish  wars.  The  antiquary  who  is  disposed  to 
investigate  this  subject,  may  consult  the  late  Lord  Ashburnham’s  elaborate 
Genealogy  of  the  Royal  House  of  France ;  also  a  note  of  Du  Cange’s  on 
the  Princess’s  history,  p.  362,  arguing  for  the  identity  of  her  “  Robert  of 
Paris,  a  haughty  barbarian,”  with  the  “  Robert  called  the  Strong,”  men¬ 
tioned  as  an  ancestor  of  Hugh  Capet.  Gibbon,  vol.  xi.  p.  52,  may  also  be 
consulted.  The  French  antiquary  and  the  English  historian  seem  alike  dis¬ 
posed  to  find  the  church,  called  in  the  tale  that  of  the  Lady  of  the  Broken 
Lances,  in  that  dedicated  to  St.  Drusas,  or  Drosin  of  Soissons,  Avho  was 
supposed  to  have  peculiar  influence  on  the  issue  of  combats,  and  to  be  in 
the  habit  of  determining  them  in  favour  of  such  champions  as  spent  the 
night  preceding  at  his  shrine. 

In  consideration  of  the  sex  of  one  of  the  parties  concerned,  the  author 
has  selected  our  Lady  of  the  Broken  Lances  as  a  more  appropriate  patroness 
than  St.  Drusas  himself,  for  the  Amazons,  who  were  not  uncommon  in  that 
age.  Gaita,  for  example,  the  wife  of  Robert  Guiscard,  a  redoubted  hero. 


*  [A.r}^tv  Inrov  pioroio  h  Ko^vrjvog 

El  0a  tfaXr)  OvyaTijp  Xij^cv  AAf^ia<5of.J 


250 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


and  the  parent  of  a  most  heroic  race  of  sons,  was  herself  an  Amazon, 
fought  in  the  foremost  ranks  of  the  Normans,  and  is  repeatedly  commemo¬ 
rated  by  our  Imperial  historian,  Anna  Comnena. 

The  reader  can  easily  conceive  to  himself  that  Robert  of  Paris  distin¬ 
guished  himself  among  his  brethren-at-arms  and  fellow-crusaders.  His 
fame  resounded  from  the  walls  of  Antioch ;  but  at  the  battle  of  Dorylaeum, 
he  was  so  desperately  wounded,  as  to  be  disabled  from  taking  a  part  in  the 
grandest  scene  of  the  expedition.  His  heroic  Countess,  however,  enjoyed 
the  great  satisfaction  of  mounting  the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  and  in  so  far 
discharging  her  own  vows  and  those  of  her  husband.  This  was  the  more 
fortunate,  as  the  sentence  of  the  physicians  pronounced  that  the  wounds  of 
the  Count  had  been  inflicted  by  a  poisoned  weapon,  and  that  complete  reco¬ 
very  was  only  to  be  hoped  for  by  having  recourse  to  his  native  air.  After 
some  time  spent  in  the  vain  hope  of  averting  by  patience  this  unpleasant 
alternative.  Count  Robert  subjected  himself  to  necessity,  or  what  was  repre¬ 
sented  as  such,  and,  with  his  wife  and  the  faithful  Hereward,  and  all  others 
of  his  followers  who  had  been  like  himself  disabled  from  combat,  took  the 
way  to  Europe  by  sea. 

A  light  galley,  procured  at  a  high  rate,  conducted  them  safely  to  Venice, 
and  from  that  then  glorious  city,  the  moderate  portion  of  spoil  which  had 
fallen  to  the  Count's  share  among  the  conquerors  of  Palestine,  served  to  con¬ 
vey  them  to  his  own  dominions,  which,  more  fortunate  than  those  of  most 
of  his  fellow-pilgrims,  had  been  left  uninjured  by  their  neighbours  during 
the  time  of  their  proprietor's  absence  on  the  Crusade.  The  report  that  the 
Count  had  lost  his  health,  and  the  power  of  continuing  his  homage  to  the 
Lady  of  the  Broken  Lances,  brought  upon  him  the  hostilities  of  one  or  tAvo 
ambitious  or  envious  neighbours,  whose  covetousness  was,  however,  suffi¬ 
ciently  repressed  by  the  brave  resistance  of  the  Countess  and  the  resolute 
Hereward.  Less  than  a  twelvemonth  was  required  to  restore  the  Count  of 
Paris  to  his  full  health,  and  to  render  him,  as  formerly,  the  assured  protector 
of  his  own  vassals,  and  the  subject  in  whom  the  possessors  of  the  French 
throne  reposed  the  utmost  confidence.  This  latter  capacity  enabled  Count 
Robert  to  discharge  his  debt  towards  Hereward  in  a  manner  as  ample  as  he 
could  have  hoped  or  expected.  Being  now  respected  alike  for  his  wisdom 
and  his  sagacity,  as  much  as  he  always  was  for  his  intrepidity  and  his  cha¬ 
racter  as  a  successful  crusader,  he  was  repeatedly  employed  by  the  Court 
of  France  in  settling  the  troublesome  and  intricate  affairs  in  which  the  Nor¬ 
man  possessions  of  the  English  crown  involved  the  rival  nations.  William 
Rufus  was  not  insensible  to  his  merit,  nor  blind  to  the  importance  of  gaining 
his  good  will ;  and  finding  out  his  anxiety  that  Hereward  should  be  restored 
to  the  land  of  his  fathers,  he  took,  or  made  an  opportunity,  by  the  forfeiture 
of  some  rebellious  noble,  of  conferring  upon  our  Varangian  a  large  district 
adjacent  to  the  New  Forest,  being  part  of  the  scenes  which  his  father  chiefly 
frequented,  and  where  it  is  said  the  descendants  of  the  valiant  squire  and 
his  Bertha  have  subsisted  for  many  a  long  year,  surviving  turns  of  time 
and  chance,  which  are  in  general  fatal  to  the  continuance  of  more  distin¬ 
guished  families. 


END  OF  COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 


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CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


As  I  stood  by  yon  roofless  tower, 

Where  the  wn'flower  scents  the  dewy  air, 
Where  the  howlet  mourns  in  her  ivy  bower, 
And  tells  tlie  midnight  moon  her  care : 


The  winds  were  laid,  the  air  was  still. 
The  stare  they  shot  along  the  sky; 

The  Fox  was  howling  on  the  hill. 

And  the  distant  echoing  glens  reply. 

Robert  Burns. 


INTRODUCTION.—  (1832.) 

[The  following  Introduction  ‘to  “Castle  Dangerous”  was  forwarded  by  Sir  Walter 
Scott  from  N.aples  in  February  1832,  together  with  some  corrections  of  the  text,  and 
notes  on  localities  mentioned  in  the  Novel. 

The  materials  for  the  Introduction  must  have  been  collected  before  he  left  Scotland 
in  September  1831 ;  but  in  the  hurry  of  preparing  for  his  voyage,  he  had  not  been 
able  to  arrange  them  so  as  to  accompany  the  first  edition  of  this  Romance. 

A  few  notes,  supplied  by  the  Editor,  are  placed  within  brackets.] 

The  incidents  on  which  the  ensuing  Novel  mainly  turns,  are  derived  from 
the  ancient  Metrical  Chronicle  of  “  The  Bruce, by  Archdeacon  Barbour, 
and  from  the  “  History  of  the  Houses  of  Douglas  and  Angus,’’  by  David 
Hume  of  Godscroft;  and  are  sustained  by  the  immemorial  tradition  of  the 
western  parts  of  Scotland.  They  are  so  much  in  consonance  with  the  spirit 
and  manners  of  the  troubled  age  to  which  they  are  referred,  that  I  can  see 
no  reason  for  doubting  their  being  founded  in  fact ;  the  names,  indeed,  of 
numberless  localities  in  the  vicinity  of  Douglas  Castle,  appear  to  attest, 
beyond  suspicion,  many  even  of  the  smallest  circumstances  embraced  in  the 
story  of  Godscroft. 

Among  all  the  associates  of  Robert  the  Bruce,  in  his  great  enterprise  of 
rescuing  Scotland  from  the  power  of  Edward,  the  first  place  is  universally 
conceded  to  James,  the  eighth  Lord  Douglas,  to  this  day  venerated  by  his 
countrymen  as  “  the  Good  Sir  James 

“  The  Gud  Schyr  James  of  Douglas, 

That  in  his  time  sa-  worthy  was. 

That  off  his  price  and  his  bounte, 

In  far  landis  renownyt  was  he.” 

Barbour. 

“  The  Good  Sir  James,  the  dreadful  blacke  Douglas, 

That  in  liis  daves  so  wise  and  worthie  was, 

Wha  here,  and  on  the  infidels  of  Spain, 

Such  honour,  praise,  and  triumphs  did  obtain.” 

Gordon. 

From  the  time  when  the  King  of  England  refused  to  reinstate  him,  on  his 
return  from  France,  where  he  had  received  the  education  of  chivalry,  in  the 
extensive  possessions  of  his  family, — which  had  been  held  forfeited  by  the 
exertions  of  his  father,  AVilliam  the  Hardy — the  young  knight  of  Douglas 
appears  to  have  embraced  the  cause  of  Bruce  with  enthusiastic  ardour,  and 
to  have  adhered  to  the  fortunes  of  his  sovereign  with  unwearied  fidelity  and 
devotion.  “  The  Douglasse,”  says  Hollinshed,  “was  right  joyfully  received 

(253) 


w 


254 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


of  King  Robert,  in  whose  service  he  faithfully  continued,  both  in  peace  and 
war,  to  his  life's  end.  Though  the  surname  and  familie  of  the  Douglasses 
was  in  some  estimation  of  nobilitie  before  those  daies,  yet  the  rising  thereof 
to  honour  chanced  through  this  James  Douglasse;  for,  by  meanes  of  his 
advancement,  others  of  that  lineage  tooke  occasion,  by  their  singular  man¬ 
hood  and  noble  prowess,  shewed  at  sundrie  times  in  defence  of  the  realme, 
to  grow  to  such  height  in  authoritie  and  estimation,  that  their  mightie 
puissance  in  mainrent,*  lands,  and  great  possessions,  at  length  was  (through 
suspicion  conceived  by  the  kings  that  succeeded)  the  cause  in  part  of  their 
ruinous  decay." 

In  every  narrative  of  the  Scottish  war  of  independence,  a  considerable 
space  is  devoted  to  those  years  of  perilous  adventure  and  suffering  which 
were  spent  by  the  illustrious  friend  of  Bruce,  in  harassing  the  English 
detachments  successively  occupying  his  paternal  territory,  and  in  repeated 
and  successful  attempts  to  wrest  the  formidable  fortress  of  Douglas  Castle 
itself  from  their  possession.  In  the  English,  as  well  as  Scotch  Chronicles, 
and  in  Rymer’s  Foedera,  occur  frequent  notices  of  the  different  officers 
intrusted  by  Edward  with  the  keeping  of  this  renowned  stronghold ;  especially 
Sir  Robert  de  Clifford,  ancestor  of  the  heroic  race  of  the  Cliffords,  Earls  of 
Cumberland ;  his  lieutenant.  Sir  Richard  de  Thurlewalle,  (written  some¬ 
times  Thruswall,)  of  Thirwall  Castle,  on  the  Tippal,  in  Northumberland; 
and  Sir  John  de  Walton,  the  romantic  story  of  whose  love  pledge,  to  hold 
the  Castle  of  Douglas  for  a  year  and  day,  or  surrender  all  hope  of  obtaining 
his  mistress's  favour,  with  the  tragic  consequences,  softened  in  the  Novel, 
is  given  at  length  in  Godscroft,  and  has  often  been  pointed  out  as  one  of 
the  affecting  passages  in  the  chronicles  of  chivalry. f 

The  Author,  before  he  had  made  much  progress  in  this,  probably  the  last 
of  his  Novels,  undertook  a  journey  to  Douglasdale,  for  the  purpose  of  ex¬ 
amining  the  remains  of  the  famous  Castle,  the  Kirk  of  St.  Bride  of  Douglas, 
the  patron  saint  of  that  great  family,  and  the  various  localities  alluded  to 
by  Godscroft,  in  his  account  of  the  early  adventures  of  good  Sir  James  ;  but 
though  he  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  a  zealous  and  well-informed  cicerone 
in  Mr.  Thomas  Iladdow,  and  had  every  assistance  from  the  kindness  of 
Mr.  Alexander  Finlay,  the  resident  Chamberlain  of  his  friend  Lord  Douglas, 
the  state  of  his  health  at  the  time  was  so  feeble,  that  he  found  himself  inca¬ 
pable  of  pursuing  his  researches,  as  in  better  days  he  would  have  delighted 
to  do,  and  was  obliged  to  be  contented  with  such  a  cursory  view  of  scenes, 
in  themselves  most  interesting,  as  could  be  snatched  in  a  single  morning, 
when  any  bodily  exertion  was  painful.  Mr.  Haddow  was  attentive  enough 
to  forward  subsequently  some  notes  on  the  points  which  the  Author  had 
seemed  desirous  of  investigating ;  but  these  did  not  reach  him  until,  being 
obliged  to  prepare  matters  for  a  foreign  excursion  in  quest  of  health  and 
strength,  he  had  been  compelled  to  bring  his  work,  such  as  it  is,  to  a  con¬ 
clusion. 

The  remains  of  the  old  Castle  of  Douglas  are  inconsiderable.  They  con¬ 
sist  indeed  of  but  one  ruined  tower,  standing  at  a  short  distance  from  the 
modern  mansion,  which  itself  is  only  a  fragment  of  the  design  on  which 
the  Duke  of  Douglas  meant  to  reconstruct  the  edifice,  after  its  last  acci¬ 
dental  destruction  by  fire.J  His  Grace  had  kept  in  view  the  ancient  pro- 


*  Vassalage. 

t  [The  reader  will  find  both  this  story,  and  that  of  Robert  of  Paris,  in  Sir  W.  Scott’s  Essay  on  Chivalry,  pub¬ 
lished  in  1818,  in  the  Supplement  to  the  EncyclopiEdia  Britannica.— £.] 

t  r'l'he  followin;^  notice  of  Douglas  Castle,  <kc.,  is  from  the  Description  of  the  Sheriffdom  of  Lanark,  by 
William  Hamilton  of  Wishavv,  written  in  the  beginning  of  the  last  century,  and  printed  by  the  Maitland  Club 
of  Glasgow  in  1831  ;] — 

“  Douglass  parish,  and  baronie  and  lordship,  heth  very  long  appertained  to  the  family  of  Douglass,  and 
continued  with  the  Earles  of  Douglass  untill  their  fatall  forfeiture,  anno  Ido.*! ;  daring  which  tyme  there  are 
many  noble  and  important  actions  recorded  in  histories  performed  by  them,  by  tlie  lords  and  earls  of  that 
great  family.  It  was  thereafter  given  to  Douglass,  Earle  of  Anguse,  and  continued  with  them  untill  William, 
Earle  of  Anguse,  was  created  Marquess  of  Douglass,  anno  1633;  and  is  now  the  principal  seat  of  the  Mar¬ 
quess  of  Douglass  his  family.  It  is  a  large  baronie  and  parish,  and  ane  laick  patronage  ;  and  the  Marquess 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CASTLE  DANGEROUS.  255 


pbecy,  that  as  often  as  Douglas  Castle  might  be  destroyed,  it  should  rise 
again  in  enlarged  dimensions  and  improved  splendour,  and  projected  a  pile 
of  building,  which,  if  it  had  been  completed,  would  have  much  exceeded 
any  nobleman’s  residence  then  existing  in  Scotland  —  as,  indeed,  Mdiat  has 
been  finished,  amounting  to  about  one-eighth  part  of  the  plan,  is  sufficiently 
extensive  for  the  accommodation  of  a  large  establishment,  and  contains 
some  apartments  the  dimensions  of  which  are  magnificent.  The  situation 
is  commanding ;  and  though  the  Duke’s  successors  have  allowed  the  mansion 
to  continue  as  he  left  it,  great  expense  has  been  lavished  on  the  environs, 
which  now  present  a  vast  sweep  of  richly  undulated  woodland,  stretching 
to  the  borders  of  the  Cairntable  mountains,  repeatedly  mentioned  as  the 
favourite  retreat  of  the  great  ancestor  of  the  family  in  the  days  of  his  hard¬ 
ship  and  persecution.  There  remains  at  the  head  of  the  adjoining  bourg, 
the  choir  of  the  ancient  church  of  St.  Bride,  having  beneath  it  the  vault 
which  was  used  till  lately  as  the  burial-place  of  this  princely  race,  and 
only  abandoned  when  their  stone  .and  leaden  coffins  had  accumulated,  in 
the  course  of  five  or  six  hundred  years,  in  such  a  way  that  it  could  accom¬ 
modate  no  more.  Here  a  silver  case,  containing  the  dust  of  what  was  once 
the  brave  heart  of  Good  Sir  James,  is  still  pointed  out ;  and  in  the  dilapi¬ 
dated  choir  above  appears,  though  in  a  sorely  ruinous  state,  the  once  mag¬ 
nificent  tomb  of  the  warrior  himself.  After  detailing  the  well-known 
circumstances  of  Sir  James’s  death  in  Spain,  20th  August,  1330,  where  he 
fell,  assisting  the  King  of  Arragon  in  an  expedition  against  the  Moors, 
when  on  his  way  back  to  Scotland  from  Jerusalem,  to  which  he  had  con¬ 
veyed  the  heart  of  Bruce, — the  old  poet  Barbour  tells  us  that — 

“  Quhen  his  men  lan^  had  mad  murnyn, 

Thai  debowalyt  him,  and  syne 

Gert  scher  liim  swa,  that  mycht  be  tane 

The  flesch  all  haly  frae  the  bane. 

And  the  carioune  thar  in  haly  place 
Erdyt,  with  rycht  gret  worschip,  was. 

“The  banys  haue  thai  with  them  tane; 

And  syne  ar  to  thair  schippis  gane; 

Syne  towart  Scotland  held  thair  way, 

And  thar  ar  cummyn  in  full  gret  hy. 

And  the  banys  honorabilly 
In  till  the  Kyrk  of  Douglas  war 
Erdyt,  with  dole  and  mekill  car. 

Schyr  Archebald  his  sone  gert  syn 
Off  alabastre,  bath  fair  and  fyne, 

Ordane  a  tuinlte  sa  richly 
As  It  behowyt  to  swa  worthy.” 

The  monument  is  supposed  to  have  been  wantonly  mutilated  and  defaced 
by  a  detachment  of  Cromwell’s  troops,  who,  as  was  their  custom,  converted 
the  kirk  of  St.  Bride  of  Douglas  into  a  stable  for  their  horses.  Enough, 
however,  remains  to  identify  the  resting-place  of  the  great  Sir  James.  The 
effigy,  of  dark  stone,  is  crossed-legged,  marking  his  character  as  one  who 
had  died  after  performing  the  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  and  in 
actual  conflict  with  the  infidels  of  Spain  ;  and  the  introduction  of  the  heart, 
adopted  as  an  addition  to  the  old  arms  of  Douglas,  in  consequence  of  the 
knight’s  fulfilment  of  Bruce’s  dying  injunction,  appears,  when  taken  in 
connexion  with  the  posture  of  the  figure,  to  set  the  question  at  rest.  The 
monument,  in  its  original  state,  must  have  been  not  inferior  in  any  respect 
to  the  best  of  the  same  period  in  Westminster  Abbey;  and  the  curious 
reader  is  referred  for  farther  particulars  of  it  to  “  The  Sepulchral  Antiqui¬ 
ties  of  Great  Britain,  by  Edward  Blore,  F.S.A.”  London,  4to,  1826:  where 

is  both  titular  ami  patron.  He  heth  there,  near  to  the  church,  a  very  considerable  great  house,  called  the 
Castle  of  Douglas ;  and  near  the  church  is  a  fyne  village  called  the  town  of  Douglass,  long  since  erected  in  a 
burgh  of  baronie.  It  heth  ane  handsome  cliurch,  with  many  ancient  monuments  and  inscriptions  on  the  old 
mterments  of  the  Earles  of  this  place. 

“The  water  of  Douglas  runs  quyte  through  the  whole  length  of  this  parish,  and  upon  either  side  of  the 
water  it  is  called  Douglasdale.  it  toucheth  Clyde  towards  the  north,  and  is  bounded  by  Lesmahagow  to  the 
west,  Kyle  to  the  soulhwe.st,  Crawford  John  and  Carmichaell  to  the  south  and  southeast.  It  is  a  pleasant 
strath,  plcntifull  in  grass  and  corn,  and  coal ;  and  the  minister  is  well  provided. 

“  The  lands  of  Heysleside  belonging  to  Samuel  Douglass,  has  a  good  house  and  pleasant  seat,  close  by  a 
wood,”  Ac. — P.  65.] 


'256 


WAVEKLEY  NOVELS. 


may  also  bo  found  interesting  details  of  some  of  the  other  tombs  and  effigies 
in  the  cemetery  of  the  first  house  of  Douglas. 

As  considerable  liberties  have  been  taken  with  the  historical  incidents  on 
which  this  novel  is  founded,  it  is  due  to  the  reader  to  place  before  him  such 
extracts  from  Godscroft  and  Barbour  as  may  enable  him  to  correct  any 
mis-impression.  The  passages  introduced  in  the  Appendix,  from  the  ancient 
poem  of  “  The  Bruce,^^  will  moreover  gratify  those  who  have  not  in  their 
possession  a  copy  of  the  text  of  Barbour,  as  given  in  the  valuable  quarto 
edition  of  my  learned  friend  Dr.  Jamieson,  as  furnishing  on  the  whole  a 
favourable  specimen  of  the  style  and  manner  of  a  venerable  classic,  who 
wrote  when  Scotland  was  still  full  of  the  fame  and  glory  of  her  liberators 
from  the  yoke  of  Plantagenet,  and  especially  of  Sir  James  Douglas,  “of 
whom,^^  says  Godscroft,  “we  will  not  omit  here,  (to  shut  up  all,)  the  judg¬ 
ment  of  those  times  concerning  him,  in  a  rude  verse  indeed,  yet  such  as 
beareth  witness  of  his  true  magnanimity  and  invincible  mind  in  either 
fortune : — 


“  Good  Sir  James  Douglas  (who  wise,  and  wight,  and  worthy  was,) 

Was  never  over  glad  in  no  winning,  nor  yet  oversad  for  no  lineing; 

Good  fortune  and  evil  chance  he  weighed  both  in  one  balance.” 

w.  s. 


APPENDIX. 

No.  I. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  “THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  HOUSES  OP  DOUGLAS  AND  ANGUS.  BY 
MASTER  DAVID  HUME  OP  GODSCROFT.”  Fol.  Edit. 

*  *  *  jjej.0  indeed  the  course  of  the  King’s  misfortunes  begins  to 
make  some  halt  and  stay  by  thus  much  prosperous  successe  in  his  own 
person  ;  but  more  in  the  person  of  Sir  James,  by  the  reconquests  of  his 
owne  castles  and  countries.  From  hence  he  went  into  Douglasdale,  where, 
by  the  means  of  his  father’s  old  servant,  Thomas  Dickson,  he  took  in  the 
Castle  of  Douglas,  and  not  being  able  to  keep  it,  he  caused  burn  it,  con¬ 
tenting  himself  with  this,  that  his  enemies  had  one  strength  fewer  in  that 
country  than  before.  The  manner  of  his  taking  of  it  is  said  to  have  beene 
thus  : — Sir  James  taking  only  with  him  two  of  his  servants,  went  to  Thomas 
Dickson,  of  whom  he  was  received  with  tears,  after  he  had  revealed  himself 
to  him,  for  the  good  old  man  knew  him  not  at  first,  being  in  mean  and 
homely  apparel.  There  he  kept  him  secretly  in  a  quiet  chamber,  and 
brought  unto  him  such  as  had  been  trusty  servants  to  his  father,  not  all  at 
once,  but  apart  by  one  and  one,  for  fear  of  discoverie.  Their  advice  was, 
that  on  Palm-Sunday,  when  the  English  would  come  forth  to  the  church, 
and  his  partners  were  conveened,  that  then  he  should  give  the  word,  and 
cry  the  Douglas  slogan,  and  presently  set  upon  them  that  should  happen  to 
be  there,  who  being  despatched,  the  Castle  might  be  taken  easily.  This 
being  concluded,  and  they  come,  so  soon  as  the  English  were  entered  into 
the  church  with  palms  in  their  hands,  (according  to  the  costume  of  that 
day,)  little  suspecting  or  fearing  any  such  thing.  Sir  James,  according  to 
their  appointment,  cryed  too  soon  (a  Douglas,  a  Douglas!)  which  being 
heard  in  the  church,  (this  was  Saint  Bride’s  church  of  Douglas,)  Thomas 
Dickson,  supposing  he  had  beene  hard  at  hand,  drew  out  his  sword,  and 
ran  upon  them,  having  none  to  second  him  but  another  man,  so  that,  op¬ 
pressed  by  the  number  of  his  enemies,  he  was  beaten  downe  and  slaine. 
In  the  meantime.  Sir  James  being  come,  the  English  that  were  in  the 
chancel  kept  off  the  Scots,  and  having  the  advantage  of  the  strait  and 


APPENDIX  TO  INTRODUCTION. 


257 


narrow  entrie,  defended  themselves  manfully.  But  Sir  James  encouraging 
his  men,  not  so  much  by  words  as  by  deeds  and  good  example,  and  having 
slain  the  boldest  resisters,  prevailed  at  last,  and  entring  the  place,  slew 
some  twenty-six  of  their  number,  and  took  the  rest,  about  ten  or  twelve 
persons,  intending  by  them  to  get  the  Castle  upon  composition,  or  to  enter 
with  them  when  the  gates  should  be  opened  to  let  them  in :  but  it  needed 
not,  for  they  of  the  Castle  were  so  secure,  that  there  was  none  left  to  keep 
it  save  the  porter  and  the  cooke,  who  knowing  nothing  of  what  had  hapned 
at  the  church,  which  stood  a  large  quarter  of  a  mile  from  thence,  had  left 
the  gate  wide  open,  the  porter  standing  without,  and  the  cooke  dressing  the 
dinner  within.  They  entered  without  resistance,  and  meat  being  ready, 
and  the  cloth  laid,  they  shut  the  gates,  and  tooke  their  refection  at  good 
leasure. 

Now  that  he  had  gotten  the  Castle  into  his  hands,  considering  with  him- 
selfe  (as  he  was  a  man  no  lesse  advised  than  valiant)  that  it  was  hard  for 
him  to  keep  it,  the  English  being  as  yet  the  stronger  in  that  countrey,  who 
if  they  should  besiege  him,  he  knewe  of  no  reliefe,  he  thought  better  to 
carry  away  such  things  as  be  most  easily  transported,  gold,  silver,  and 
apparell,  with  ammunition  and  armour,  whereof  he  had  greatest  use  and 
need,  and  to  destroy  the  rest  of  the  provision,  together  with  the  Castle 
itselfe,  then  to  diminish  the  number  of  his  followers  for  a  garrison  there 
where  it  could  do  no  good.  And  so  he  caused  carrie  the  meale  and  malt, 
and  other  comes  and  graine,  into  the  cellar,  and  laid  altogether  in  one 
heape :  then  he  took  the  prisoners  and  slew  them,  to  revenge  the  death  of 
his  trustie  and  valiant  servant,  Thomas  Dickson,  mingling  the  victuals  with 
their  bloud,  and  burying  their  carkasses  in  the  heap  of  come :  after  that  he 
struck  out  the  heads  of  the  barrells  and  puncheons,  and  let  the  drink  runn 
through  all ;  and  then  he  cast  the  carkasses  of  dead  horses  and  other 
carrion  amongst  it,  throwing  the  salt  above  all,  so  as  to  make  altogether 
unuseful  to  the  enemie;  and  this  cellar  is  called  yet  the  Douglas  Lairder. 
Last  of  all,  he  set  the  house  on  fire,  and  burnt  all  the  timber,  and  what 
else  the  fire  could  overcome,  leaving  nothing  but  the  scorched  walls  behind 
him.  And  this  seemes  to  be  the  first  taking  of  the  Castle  of  Douglas,  for  it 
is  supposed  that  he  took  it  twice.  For  this  service,  and  others  done  to 
Lord  William  his  father.  Sir  James  gave  unto  Thomas  Dickson  the  lands 
of  Ilisleside,  which  hath  beene  given  him  before  the  Castle  was  taken  as 
an  encouragement  to  whet  him  on,  and  not  after,  for  he  was  slain  in  the 
church  ;  which  was  both  liberally  and  wisely  done  of  him,  thus  to  hearten 
and  draw  men  to  his'  service  by  such  a  noble  beginning.  The  Castle  being 
burnt,  Sir  James  retired,  and  parting  his  men  into  divers  companies,  so  as 
they  might  be  most  secret,  he  caused  cure  such  as  were  wounded  in  the 
fight,  and  he  himselfe  kept  as  close  as  he  could,  waiting  ever  for  an  occa¬ 
sion  to  enterprise  something  against  the  enemie.  So  soone  as  he  was  gone, 
the  Lord  Clifford  being  advertised  of  what  had  happened,  came  himselfe  in 
person  to  Douglas,  and  caused  re-edifie  and  repair  the  Castle  in  a  very  short 
time,  unto  which  he  also  added  a  Tower,  which  is  yet  called  Harries  Tower 
from  him,  and  so  returned  into  England,  leaving  one  Thurswall  to  be 
Captain  thereof.  —  Pp.  26-28. 

******** 

He  (Sir  James  Douglas)  getting  him  again  into  Douglasdale,  did  use  this 
stratagem  against  Thurswall,  Captain  of  the  Castle,  under  the  said  Lord 
Clifford.  He  caused  some  of  his  folk  drive  away  the  cattle  that  fed  near 
unto  the  Castle,  and  when  the  Captain  of  the  garrison  followed  to  rescue, 
gave  orders  to  his  men  to  leave  them  and  to  flee  away.  Thus  he  did  often 
to  make  the  Captain  slight  such  frays,  and  to  make  him  secure,  that  he 
might  not  suspect  any  further  end  to  1)6  on  it ;  which  when  he  had  wrought 
sufficiently  (as  he  thought),  he  laid  some  men  in  ambuscade,  and  sent 
others  away  to  drive  such  beasts  as  they  should  find  in  the  view  of  the 
VoL.  XU.  — 17  w2 


258 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


Castle,  as  if  they  had  been  thieves  and  robbers,  as  they  had  done  often 
before.  The  Captain  hearing  of  it,  and  supposing  there  was  no  greater 
danger  now  than  had  been  before,  issued  forth  of  the  Castle,  and  followed 
after  them  with  such  haste  that  his  men  (running  who  should  be  first)  were 
disordered  and  out  of  their  ranks.  The  drivers  also  fled  as  fast  as  they 
could  till  they  had  drawn  the  Captain  a  little  way  beyond  the  place  of 
ambuscado,  which  when  they  perceived,  rising  quickly  out  of  their  covert, 
they  set  fiercely  upon  him  and  his  company,  and  so  slew  himself  and  chased 
his  men  back  to  the  Castle,  some  of  whom  were  overtaken  and  slain,  others 
got  into  the  Castle  and  so  were  saved.  Sir  James,  not  being  able  to 
force  the  house,  took  what  booty  he  could  get.without  in  the  fields,  and 
so  deprrted.  By  this  means,  and  such  other  exploits,  he  so  affrighted  the 
enemy,  that  it  was  counted  a  matter  of  such  great  jeopardy  to  keep  this 
Castle,  that  it  began  to  be  called  the  adventurous  (or  hazardous)  Castle  of 
Douglas:  Whereupon  Sir  John  Walton  being  in  suit  of  an  English  lady, 
she  wrote  to  him  that  when  he  had  kept  the  adventurous  Castle  of  Douglas 
seven  years,  then  he  might  think  himself  worthy  to  be  a  suitor  to  her. 
Upon  this  occasion  Walton  took  upon  him  the  keeping  of  it,  and  succeeded 
to  Thurswall ;  but  he  ran  the  same  fortune  with  the  rest  that  were  before 
him. 

For,  Sir  James  having  first  dressed  an  ambuscado  near  unto  the  place, 
he  made  fourteen  of  his  men  take  so  many  sacks,  and  fill  them  with  grass, 
as  though  it  had  been  corn,  which  they  carried  in  the  way  toward  Lanark, 
the  chief  market  town  in  that  county :  so  hoping  to  draw  forth  the  Captain 
by  that  bait,  and  either  to  take  him  or  the  Castle,  or  both. 

Neither  was  this  expectation  frustrate,  for  the  Captain  did  bite,  and  came 
forth  to  have  taken  this  victual  (as  he  supposed).  But  ere  he  could  reach 
these  carriers.  Sir  James,  with  his  company,  had  gotten  between  the  Castle 
and  him ;  and  these  disguised  carriers,  seeing  the  Captain  following  after 
them,  did  quickly  cast  off  their  upper  garments,  wherein  they  had  masked 
themselves,  and  throwing  off  their  sacks,  mounted  themselves  on  horseback, 
and  met  the  Captain  with  a  sharp  encounter,  he  being  so  much  the  more 
amazed  that  it  was  unlooked  for :  wherefore,  when  he  saw  these  carriers 
metamorphosed  into  warriors,  and  ready  to  assault  him,  fearing  (that  which 
was)  that  there  was  some  train  laid  for  them,  he  turned  about  to  have  retired 
into  the  Castle ;  but  there  also  he  met  with  his  enemies ;  between  which 
two  companies  he  and  his  followers  were  slain,  so  that  none  escaped ;  the 
Captain  afterwards  being  searched,  they  found  (as  it  is  reported)  his  mis¬ 
tress’s  letters  about  him.  Then  he  went  and  took  in  the  Castle,  but  it  is 
uncertain  (say  our  writers)  whether  by  force  or  composition  ;  but  it  seems 
that  the  Constable,  and  those  that  were  within,  have  yielded  it  up  without 
force ;  in  regard  that  he  used  them  so  gently,  which  he  would  not  have 
done  if  he  had  taken  it  at  utterance.  For  he  sent  them  all  safe  home  to 
the  Lord  Clifford,  and  gave  them  also  provision  and  money  for  their  enter¬ 
tainment  by  the  way.  The  Castle,  which  he  had  burnt  only  before,  now 
he  razeth,  and  casts  down  the  walls  thereof  to  the  ground.  By  these  and 
the  like  proceedings,  within  a  short  while  he  freed  Douglasdale,  Attrict 
Forest,  and  Jedward  Forest,  of  the  English  garrisons  and  subjection. — 
Ibid.  p.  29. 


APPENDIX 


TO  INTRODUCTION 


259 


No.  II.  ^ 

[Extracts  from  The  Bruce.  —  “Liber  compositus  per  Maj];istrum  Johannem 
Jiarber  Arcliidiaconum  Abyrdonensem,  de  gestis,  bellis,  et  vertutibus, 
Domini  lloberti  Brwyss,  Kegis  Scocie  illustrissimi,  et  de  conquestil  regni 
Scocie  per  eundem,  et  de  Domino  Jacobo  de  Douglas. —  Edited  by  John 
Jamieson,  D.D.  F.R.S.F.  &c.  &c.  Edinburgh,  1820.] 


Now  takis  James  his  waige 
Towart  Dowplas,  his  hereta«;e, 

Witli  twa  yemeii,  for  his  owlyii  ma; 
Tliat  wes  a  symple  stuff  to  ta, 

A  latul  or  a  castell  to  win. 

The  quhethir  he  yarnyt  to  be^yn 
Till  bring  purposs  till  ending; 

For  gud  help  is  in  gad  begynnyng, 

For  gud  begynning,  and  hardy, 

Gyff  it  be  nilwit  wittily, 

May  ger  oflsyss  unlikly  thing 
Cum  to  full  conabill  eiidhig. 

Swa  did  it  here  :  but  he  wes  wyss 
And  saw  he  mycht,  on  nakyn  wyss, 
Werray  his  fa  with  evyn  mycht; 

Tharfiir  he  thocht  to  wyrk  with  slycht. 
And  in  Uowglas  daile,  his  countre| 

Upon  an  evynnyng  entryt  he. 

And  than  a  man  wonnyt  tharby. 

That  was  off  fieyndis  weill  mychty. 

And  ryohe  of  moble,  and  off  cateili; 

And  had  bene  till  his  fadyr  leyll; 

And  till  him  selff.  in  his  yowthed. 

He  haid  done  mony  a  thankfull  deid. 
'I'liom  Dioson  wes  his  name  perlay. 

Till  him  he  send;  and  gan  him  pray, 
That  he  wald  cum  all  anerly 
For  to  spek  with  him  priuely. 

And  he  but  daunger  till  him  gais : 

Bot  fra  he  tauld  him  quhat  he  wais, 

He  gret  for  joy,  and  for  pit6 ; 

And  him  rycht  till  his  houss  had  he; 
Quhar  in  a  chambre  priuely 
He  held  him,  and  his  cumpany, 

That  nane  had  off  him  persaving. 

Off  mete,  and  drynk,  and  olhyr  thing, 
That  mycht  thaim  eyss.  that  had  plent6. 
Sa  wrocht  he  thoiow  suteltA, 

That  all  the  lele  men  off  that  land, 

I'hat  with  his  fadyr  war  duelland, 

'I'his  gud  man  gert  cum,  ane  and  ane. 
And  mak  him  manrent  euir  ilkane; 

And  he  him  selff  fyrst  homage  maid. 
Oowglas  in  part  gret  glaidschip  haid. 
That  the  gud  men  off'  his  cuntr6 
Wald  swagate  till  him  buudyn  be. 

He  speryt  the  conwyne  off  the  land. 

And  qiiha  the  castell  had  in  hand 
And  thai  him  tauld  all  halily; 

And  syne  aniang  them  priuely 
Thai  ordanyt,  that  he  still  suld  bo 
In  hiddillis,  and  in  priwet6, 

'I'lll  I’alme  Sonday,  tliat  wes  tier  hand, 
'I’he  thud  day  eftyr  folowand. 

For  than  the  folk  off  that  countr6 
AssemblyC  at  the  kyrk  wald  be ; 

And  thai,  that  in  the  castell  wer,  ' 

Wald  als  be  thar,  thar  palmys  to  ber. 

As  folk  that  had  na  dreid  oil’  ill; 

For  thai  thoucht  all  wes  at  thair  will. 
’I'lian  suld  he  cum  with  his  twa  men. 
Bot,  for  that  men  suld  nocht  him  ken, 
He  suld  ane  mantill  haiff  auld  and  bur. 
And  a  llaill,  as  he  a  thresscher  war. 
Uiidyr  the  mantill  nocht  for  tlii 
He  suld  be  armyt  priuely. 

And  quhen  the  men  oif  his  countrd, 

That  suld  all  boune  befor  him  be, 

His  ensenye  mycht  her  hym  cry. 

Then  suld  thai,  full  c.ifor\oly, 

Hycht  ymyddys  the  kyrlc  assaill 
The  liighss  men  with,  hard  hataill 
Swa  that  nane  mycht  e.schap  them  fra; 
For  thar  throwch  trowyt  thai  to  ta 
I'lie  castell,  that  besid  wes  ner. 

And  quhen  tins,  that  I  tell  you  her, 

Wes  diuisyt  and  undertaiie, 
llKane  till  his  howss  liame  is  gane; 

And  held  this  speK  in  priuetd,' 

Till  the  day  off  thar  assembly. 


The  folk  upon  the  Sonounday 
Held  to  Saynct  Bridis  kyrk  thair  way. 
And  tha  that  in  the  castell  war 
Isotiyt  owt,  hath  les  and  mar. 

And  went  thair  palmys  for  to  ber; 
Owtane  a  cuk  and  a  porter. 

James  off  Dowglas  off  thair  curnmyng. 
And  quhat  thai  war,  had  witting; 

And  sped  him  till  the  kyrk  m  hy 
Bot  or  he  come,  too  hastily 
Ane  oft  his  criyt,  “Dowglas!  Dowglas  I” 
Thomas  Dicson,  that  nerrest  was 
Till  thaim  that  war  off  the  castell, 

That  war  all  innouth  the  chancell, 

Quhen  he  “Dowglas!”  swa  hey  herd  cry, 
Drew  owt  his  swerd ;  and  fellely 
Ruschyl  amang  thaim  to  and  fra. 

Bot  ane  or  twa,  for  owtyn  ma, 

Than  in  hy  war  left  lyaiid 
Quhill  Dowglas  come  rycht  at  hand. 

And  then  enforcyt  on  thaim  the  cry. 

Bot  thai  the  chaiisell  sturdely 
Held,  and  thaim  defendyt  wele, 

Till  off  thair  men  war  slayiie  sumdell. 
Bot  the  Dowglace  sa  weill  him  bar. 

That  all  the  men,  that  with  him  war. 
Had  comfort  off  his  wele  doyng; 

And  he  him  sparyt  nakyn  thing, 

Bot  provyt  swa  his  force  in  fycht, 

7'hal  throw  his  worschip,  and  his  mycht, 
His  men  sa  keyiily  helpyt  than, 

That  thai  the  chaiisell  on  thaim  wan. 
Than  dang  thai  on  swa  hardyly, 

'I'hat  ill  schort  tyme  men  mycht  se  ly 
The  twa  part  dede,  or  then  deand. 

The  lave  war  sesyt  sone  in  hand, 

Swa  that  off'  thretty  levyt  nane. 

That  thai  ne  war  slayne  ilkaii,  or  tane. 


Janies  off  Dowglas,  quhen  this  wes  dohe. 
The  presoneris  has  he  tane  alsone ; 

And,  with  thaim  off  his  cumpany,  , 
Towart  the  castell  went  in  hy. 

Or  noyiss,  or  cry,  suld  ryss. 

And  tor  he  widd  thaim  sone  suppnss. 
That  levyt  in  the  castell  war. 

That  war  but  twa  for  owtyn  mar, 

Fyve  men  or  sex  Irefor  send  he, 

'I'hat  fund  all  opyii  the  entr6 ; 

And  entryt,  and  the  porter  tuk 
Rycht  at  the  gate,  and  syne  the  cuk. 

With  that  Dowglas  come  to  the  gat. 

And  entryt  in  for  owtyn  debate; 

And  faiid  the  mete  all  ready  grathit, 

With  burdys  set,  and  clathis  layit. 

'I'lie  gaitis  then  he  gert  sper, 

And  sat,  and  eyt  all  at  layser. 

Syne  all  the  gudis  turssyt  thai 

I'hat  thaim  thocht  thai  mycht  haiff  away; 

And  namly  wapnys,  and  arniyng, 

Siluer,  and  tresour,  and  clethyng. 

Vyctallis,  that  mycht  nocht  tursyt  be. 

On  this  manner  destroyit  he. 

All  the  victalis,  owtane  salt, 

Als  quheyt,  and  llour,  and  meill,  and  malt 
In  the  wyne  sellar  gert  he  bring; 

And  samyn  on  the  flur  all  flyng. 

And  the  presoneris  that  he  had  tane 
Rycht  thar  in  gert  he  held  ilkane; 

Syne  off  the  towiiiiys  he  hedis  outstrak: 

A  foule  melld  thar  gaiie  he  mak. 

For  nieile,  and  malt,  and  bluid,  and  wyne, 
Ran  all  to  gidder  in  a  mellyne, 

'I  hat  was  unsemly  for  to  se. 

Tharfor  the  men  of  that  countrd, 

For  swa  fele  thar  mellyt  wer, 

Caliit  it  the  “Dowglas  Ixirdner.” 

Syne  tuk  he  salt,  us  Ic  hard  tell, 

And  ded  horss,  and  sordid  the  well; 


260 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS 


And  brynt  all,  owtakyn  stane ; 

And  is  forth,  with  his  nieiiye,  gayne 
'I'ill  his  resett;  for  him  thoucht  weill, 

Giff  he  had  haldyn  the  castell, 

It  had  bene  assegyt  raith ; 

And  that  him  thoucht  to  mekill  waith. 

For  he  ne  had  hop  of  reskewyug. 

And  it  is  to  peralous  thing 
In  castell  assegyt  to  be, 

Qnhar  want  is  off  thir  thingis  thre; 
Victaill,  or  men  with  their  armyng. 

Or  than  gud  hop  off  rescuyng. 

And  for  he  dred  thir  thingis  suld  faile. 

He  chesyt  furthwart  to  trawaill, 

Quhar  he  mycht  at  his  larges  be; 

And  swa  dryve  furth  his  destan6. 

On  this  wise  wes  the  castell  tan, 

And  slayne  that  war  tharin  ilkan. 

The  Dowglas  syne  all  his  menye 
Gert  in  ser  placis  depertyt  be ; 

For  men  suld  wyt  quhar  thai  war. 

That  yeid  depertyt  her  and  thar. 

Thaim  that  war  woundyt  gert  he  ly 
In  till  hiddillis,  all  priuely ; 

And  gert  gud  leechis  t^l  thaim  bring 
Quhdl  that  thai  war  in  till  heling. 

And  him  selff,  with  a  few  menye, 

Quhile  ane,  quhile  twa,  and  quhile  thre, 
And  umquhill  all  him  allane. 

In  hiddillis  throw  the  land  is  gane. 

Sa  dred  he  Inglis  men  his  mycht. 

That  he  durst  nocht  wele  cum  in  sycht. 
For  thai  war  that  tyme  all  weldand 
As  maist  loi'dis,  our  all  the  land. 

Bot  tythandis,  that  scabs  sone. 

Off  this  deid  that  Dowglas  has  done. 

Come  to  the  Clifford  his  ere,  in  hy. 

That  for  his  tynsaill  wes  sary  ; 

And  menyt  his  men  that  thai  had  slayne, 
And  syne  has  to  purpos  tane. 

To  big  the  castell  up  agayne. 

I’har  for,  as  man  of  mekill  rnayne. 

He  assemblit  gret  company. 

And  till  Dowglas  he  went  in  hy. 

And  biggyt  wp  the  castell  swyth ; 

And  maid  it  rycht  stalwart  and  styth 
And  put  thariii  victallis  and  men 
Ane  off  the  Thyrwallys  then 
He  left  behind  him  Capitane, 

And  syne  tiU  Ingland  went  agayne. 

Book  IV.  V.  255—460. 

Box  yeit  than  James  of  Dowglas 
In  Dowglas  Dade  travaillaiid  was ; 


Or  ellys  weill  ner  hand  tharby, 

In  hyddillys  sumdeill  priuely. 

For  he  wald  se  his  gouernyng. 

That  had  the  castell  in  keping; 

And  gert  mak  mony  jupertv. 

To  sc  quhethyr  he  wald  ische  blythly. 

And  quhen  he  persavyt  that  he 
Wald  blythly  ische  with  his  menye, 

He  maid  a  gadring  priuely 
Off  thaim  that  war  on  his  party; 

That  war  sa  fele,  that  thai  durst  fych 
With  Thyrwall.  and  all  the  mycht 
Off  thaim  that  in  the  castell  war. 

He  schupe  him  in  the  nycht  so  far 
To  Sandylandis :  and  thar  ner  by 
He  him  enbuschyt  priuely. 

And  send  a  few  a  trane  to  ma; 

That  sone  in  the  mornyng  gan  ga,  , 

And  tuk  catell,  that  wes  the  castell  by, 
And  syne  withdrew  thaim  hastely 
Towart  thaim  that  enbuschit  war. 

Than  Thyrwall,  for  owtyn  mar, 

Gert  arme  his  men,  forowtyn  baid ; 

And  ischyt  with  all  the  men  he  haid : 

And  folowyt  fast  eftir  the  cry. 

He  wes  armyt  at  poynt  clenly, 

Owtane  [that]  his  hede  wes  bar. 

Than,  with  the  men  that  with  him  war. 
The  catell  folowit  he  gud  speid, 

Bycht  as  a  man  that  had  na  dreid. 

Till  that  he  gat  off  thaim  a  sycht. 

I'han  prekyt  thai  with  all  thar  mycht, 
Folowand  thaim  owt  off  aray : 

And  thai  sped  thaim  fleand,  quhill  thai 
Fer  by  thair  buschement  war  past; 

And  Thyrwall  ay  chassyt  fast. 

And  than  thai  that  enbuschyt  war 
Ischyt  till  him,  bath  les  and  mar 
And  rayssyt  sudanly  the  cry. 

And  thai  that  saw  sa  sudanly 
That  folk  come  egyrly  prikaiid 
Rycht  betuix  thaim  and  thair  warank, 

Thai  war  in  to  full  grei^  effray. 

And,  for  thai  war  owt  off  aray. 

Sum  off  thaim  fled,  and  some  abad. 

And  Dowglas,  that  thar  with  him  had 
A  gret  mengye,  full  egrely 
Assaylyt,  and  scalyt  thaim  ha.styly : 

And  in  schort  tyme  ourraid  thaim  swa. 
That  weile  nane  eschapyt  thaim  fra. 
Thyrwall,  that  wes  thair  capitane, 

W’es  thar  in  the  bargane  slane : 

And  off  his  men  the  mast  party. 

The  lave  fled  full  effraytly. 

Book  V.  V.  10 — 60. 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


Clmiittr  tjiB 

Hosts  have  been  known  at  that  dread  sound  to  yield, 

And,  Douglas  dead,  his  name  hath  won  the  hehU 

John  Home. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  an  early  spring  day,  when  nature,  in  a  cold  province 
of  Scotland,  was  reviving  from  her  winter’s  sleep,  and  the  air  at  least,  though 
not  the  vegetation,  gave  promise  of  an  abatement  of  the  rigour  of  the 
season,  that  two  travellers,  whose  appearance  at  that  early  period  sufficiently 
announced  their  wandering  character,  which,  in  general,  secured  a  free 
passage  even  through  a  dangerous  country,  were  seen  coming  from  the  south- 
w'estward,  within  a  few  miles  of  the  Castle  of  Douglas,  and  seemed  to  be 
holding  their  course  in  the  direction  of  the  river  of  that  name,  wdiose  dale 
afforded  a  species  of  approach  to  that  memorable  feudal  fortress.  The 
stream,  small  in  comparison  to  the  extent  of  its  fame,  served  as  a  kind  of 
drain  to  the  country  m  its  neighbourhood,  and  at  the  same  time  afforded 
the  means  of  a  rough  road  to  the  castle  and  village.  The  high  lords  to 
whom  the  castle  had  for  ages  belonged,  might,  had  they  chosen,  have  made 
this  access  a  great  deal  smoother  and  more  convenient ;  but  there  had  been 
as  yet  little  or  no  exercise  for  those  geniuses,  who  have  taught  all  the  world 
that  it  is  better  to  take  the  more  circuitous  road  round  the  base  of  a  hill, 
than  the  direct  course  of  ascending  it  on  the  one  side,  and  descending  it 
directly  on  the  other,  without  yielding  a  single  step  to  render  the  passage 
more  easy  to  the  traveller ;  still  less  were  those  mysteries  dreamed  of  which 
M‘Adam  has  of  late  days  expounded.  But,  indeed,  to  what  purpose  should 
the  ancient  Douglasses  have  employed  his  principles,  even  if  they  had  known 
them  in  ever  so  much  perfection?  Wheel-carriages,  except  of  the  most 
clumsy  description,  and  for  the  most  simple  operations  of  agriculture,  were 
totally  unknown.  Even  the  most  delicate  female  had  no  resource  save  a 
horse,  or,  in  case  of  sore  infirmity,  a  litter.  The  men  used  their  own  sturdy 
limbs,  or  'hardy  horses,  to  transport  themselves  from  place  to  place ;  and 
travellers,  females  in  particular,  experienced  no  small  inconvenience  from 
the  rugged  nature  of  the  country.  A  swollen  torrent  sometimes  crossed 
their  path,  and  compelled  them  to  wait  until  the  waters  had  abated  their 
frenzy.  The  bank  of  a  small  river  was  occasionally  torn  away  by  the  effects 
of  a  thunder-storm,  a  recent  inundation,  or  the  like  convulsions  of  nature ; 
and  the  wayfarer  relied  upon  his  knowledge  of  the  district,  or  obtained  the 
best  local  information  in  his  power,  how  to  direct  his  path  so  as  to  surmount 
such  untoward  obstacles. 

The  Douglas  issues  from  an  amphitheatre  of  mountains  which  bounds 

(261) 


262 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


the  valley  to  the  south-west,  from  whose  contributions,  and  the  aid  of  sudden 
storms,  it  receives  its  scanty  supplies.  The  general  aspect  of  the  country 
is  that  of  the  pastoral  hills  of  the  south  of  Scotland,  forming,  as  is  usual, 
bleak  and  wild  farms,  many  of  which  had,  at  no  great  length  of  time  from 
the  date  of  the  story,  been  covered  with  trees ;  as  some  of  them  still  attest 
by  bearing  the  name  of  shaw,  that  is,  wild  natural  wood.  The  neighbour¬ 
hood  of  the  Douglas  water  itself  was  flat  land,  capable  of  bearing  strong 
crops  of  oats  and  rye,  supplying  the  inhabitants  with  what  they  required 
of  these  productions.  At  no  great  distance  from  the  edge  of  the  river,  a 
few  special  spots  excepted,  the  soil  capable  of  agriculture  was  more  and 
more  mixed  with  the  pastoral  and  woodland  country,  till  both  terminated  in 
desolate  and  partly  inaccessible  moorlands. 

Above  all,  it  was  war-time,  and  of  necessity  all  circumstances  of  mere 
convenience  were  obliged  to  give  way  to  a  paramount  sense  of  danger ;  the 
inhabitants,  therefore,  instead  of  trying  to  amend  the  paths  which  connected 
them  with  other  districts,  were  thankful  that  the  natural  difficulties  which 
surrounded  them  rendered  it  unnecessary  to  break  up  or  to  fortify  the  access 
from  more  open  countries.  Their  wants,  with  a  very  few  exceptions,  were 
completely  supplied,  as  we  have  already  said,  by  the  rude  and  scanty  pro¬ 
duce  of  their  own  mountains  and  holms*  the  last  of  which  served  for  the 
exercise  of  their  limited  agriculture,  while  the  better  part  of  the  mountains 
and  forest  glens  produced  pasture  for  their  herds  and  flocks.  The  recesses 
of  the  unexplored  depths  of  these  sylvan  retreats  being  seldom  disturbed, 
especially  since  the  lords  of  the  district  had  laid  aside,  during  this  time  of 
strife,  their  constant  occupation  of  hunting,  the  various  kinds  of  game  had 
increased  of  late  very  considerably  ;  so  that  not  only  in  crossing  the  rougher 
parts  of  the  hilly  and  desolate  country  we  are  describing,  difierent  varieties 
of  deer  were  occasionally  seen,  but  even  the  wild  cattle  peculiar  to  Scot¬ 
land  sometimes  showed  themselves,  and  other  animals,  which  indicated  the 
irregular  and  disordered  state  of  the  period.  The  wild-cat  was  frequently 
surprised  in  the  dark  ravines  or  the  swampy  thickets  ;  and  the  wolf,  already 
a  stranger  to  the  more  populous  districts  of  the  Lothians,  here  maintained 
his  ground  against  the  encroachments  of  man,  and  was  still  himself  a  terror 
to  those  by  whom  he  was  finally  to  be  extirpated.  In  winter  especially,  and 
winter  was  hardly  yet  past,  these  savage  animals  were  wont  to  be  driven 
to  extremity  for  lack  of  food,  and  used  to  frequent,  in  dangerous  numbers, 
the  battle-field,  the  deserted  churchyard  —  nay,  sometimes  the  abodes  of 
living  men,  there  to  watch  for  children,  their  defenceless  prey,  with  as  much 
familiarity  as  the  fox  now-a-days  will  venture  to  prowl  near  the  mistress’s  f 
poultry-yard. 

From  what  we  have  said,  our  readers,  if  they  have  made  —  as  who  in 
these  days  has  not  —  the  Scottish  tour,  will  be  able  to  form  a  tolerably  just 
idea  of  the  wilder  and  upper  part  of  Douglas  Dale,  during  the  earlier  period 
of  the  fourteenth  century.  The  setting  sun  cast  his  gleams  along  a  moor¬ 
land  country,  which  to  the  westward  broke  into  larger  swells,  terminating 
in  the  mountains  called  the  Larger  and  Lesser  Cairntable.  The  first  of 
these  is,  as  it  were,  the  father  of  the  hills  in  the  neighbourhood,  the  source 
of  an  hundred  streams,  and  by  far  the  largest  of  the  ridge,  still  holding  in 
his  dark  bosom,  and  in  the  ravines  with  which  his  sides  are  ploughed,  con¬ 
siderable  remnants  of  those  ancient  forests  with  which  all  the  high  grounds 
of  that  quarter  were  once  covered,  and  particularly  the  hills,  in  which  the 
rivers  —  both  those  which  run  to  the  east,  and  those  which  seek  the  west  to 
discharge  themselves  into  the  Solway  —  hide,  like  so  many  hermits,  their 
original  and  scanty  sources. 

The  landscape  was  still  illuminated  by  the  reflection  of  the  evening  sun, 


*  Holms,  or  flat  plains,  by  the  sides  of  the  brooks  and  rivers,  termed  in  the  south,  Ings. 
t  The  good  dame,  or  wife  of  a  respectable  farmer,  is  almost  universally  thus  designated  in  Scotland. 


CASTLE  DAN(}EROUS. 


203 


sometimes  thrown  back  from  pool  or  stream  ;  sometimes  restinj^  on  grey 
rocks,  huge  cuinberers  of  the  soil,  which  labour  and  agriculture  have  since 
removed,  and  sometimes  contenting  itself  with  gilding  the  banks  of  the 
stream,  tinged,  alternately  grey,  green,  or  ruddy,  as  the  ground  itself  con¬ 
sisted  of  rock,  or  grassy  turf,  or  bare  earthen  mound,  or  looked  at  a  distance 
like  a  rampart  of  dark  red  porphyry.  Occasionally,  too,  the  eye  rested  on 
the  steep  brown  extent  of  moorland  as  the  sunbeam  glanced  back  from  the 
little  tarn  or  mountain  pool,  whose  lustre,  like  that  of  the  eye  in  the  human 
countenance,  gives  a  life  and  vivacity  to  every  feature  around. 

The  elder  and  stouter  of  the  two  travellers  whom  we  have  mentioned,  was 
a  person  well,  and  even  showily  dressed,  according  to  the  finery  of  the  times, 
and  bore  at  his  back,  as  wandering  minstrels  were  wont,  a  case,  containing 
a  small  harp,  rote  or  viol,  or  some  such  species  of  musical  instrument  for 
accompanying  the  voice.  The  leathern  case  announced  so  much,  although 
it  proclaimed  not  the  exact  nature  of  the  instrument.  The  colour  of  the 
traveller’s  doublet  was  blue,  and  that  of  his  hose  violet,  with  slashes  which 
showed  a  lining  of  the  same  colour  with  the  jerkin.  A  mantle  ought, 
according  to  ordinary  custom,  to  have  covered  this  dress ;  but  the  heat  of 
the  sun,  though  the  season  was  so  early,  had  induced  the  wearer  to  fold  up 
his  cloak  in  small  compass,  and  form  it  into  a  bundle,  attached  to  the 
shoulders  like  the  military  greatcoat  of  the  infantry  soldier  of  the  present 
day.  The  neatness  with  which  it  was  made  up,  argued  the  precision  of  a 
practised  traveller,  who  had  been  long  accustomed  to  every  resource  which 
change  of  weather  required.  A  great  profusion  of  narrow  ribands  or  points, 
constituting  the  loops  with  which  our  ancestors  connected  their  doublet  and 
hose,  formed  a  kind  of  cordon,  composed  of  knots  of  blue  or  violet,  which 
surrounded  the  traveller’s  person,  and  thus  assimilated  in  colour  with  the 
two  garments  which  it  was  the  office  of  these  strings  to  combine.  The 
bonnet  usually  worn  with  this  showy  dress,  was  of  that  kind  with  which 
Henry  the  Eighth  and  his  son,  Edward  the  Sixth,  are  usually  represented. 
It  was  more  fitted,  from  the  gay  stuff  of  w^hich  it  was  composed,  to  appear 
in  a  public  place,  than  to  encounter  a  storm  of  rain.  It  was  party-coloured, 
being  made  of  different  stripes  of  blue  and  violet ;  and  the  wearer  arrogated 
a  certain  degree  of  gentility  to  himself,  by  wearing  a  plume  of  considerable 
dimensions  of  the  same  favourite  colours.  The  features  over  which  this 
feather  drooped  w^ere  in  no  degree  remarkable  for  peculiarity  of  expression. 
Yet  in  so  desolate  a  country  as  the  west  of  Scotland,  it  w^ould  not  have  been 
easy  to  pass  the  man  without  more  minute  attention  than  he  would  have  met 
with  where  there  was  more  in  the  character  of  the  scenery  to  arrest  the  gaze 
of  the  passengers. 

A  quick  eye,  a  sociable  look,  seeming  to  say,  “  Ay,  look  at  me,  I  am  a 
man  worth  noticing',  and  not  unworthy  your  attention,”  carried  with  it, 
nevertheless,  an  interpretation  which  might  be  thought  favourable  or  other¬ 
wise,  according  to  the  character  of  the  person  whom  the  traveller  met.  A 
knight  or  soldier  would  merely  have  thought  that  he  had  met  a  merry  fellow, 
who  could  sing  a  wild  song,  or  tell  a  wild  tale,  and  help  to  empty  a  flagon, 
with  all  the  accomplishments  necessary  for  a  boon  companion  at  an  hostelry, 
except  perhaps  an  alacrity  at  defraying  his  share  of  the  reckoning.  A 
churchman,  on  the  other  hand,  might  have  thought  he  of  the  blue  and  violet 
was  of  too  loose  habits,  and  accustomed  too  little  to  limit  himself  within 
the  boundaries  of  beseeming  mirth,  to  be  tit  society  for  one  of  his  sacred 
calling.  Yet  the  Man  of  Song  had  a  certain  steadiness  of  countenance, 
whitdi  seemed  fitted  to  hold  place  in  scenes  of  serious  business  as  well  as  of 
gaiety.  A  wayfaring  passenger  of  wealth  (not  at  that  time  a  numerous 
class)  might  have  feared  in  him  a  professional  robber,  or  one  whom  oppor¬ 
tunity  was  very  likely  to  convert  into  such ;  a  female  might  have  been 
apprehensive  of  uncivil  treatment;  and  a  youth,  or  timid  person,  might 
have  thought  of  murder,  or  such  direful  doings.  Unless  privately  armed. 


264 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


however,  the  minstrel  was  ill-accoutred  for  any  dangerous  occupation. 
His  only  visible  weapon  was  a  small  crooked  sword,  like  what  we  now 
call  a  hanger;  and  the  state  of  the  times  would  have  justified  any  man, 
however  peaceful  his  intentions,  in  being  so  far  armed  against  the  perils  of 
the  road. 

If  a  glance  at  this  man  had  in  any  respect  prejudiced  him  in  the  opinion 
of  those  whom  he  met  on  his  journey,  a  look  at  his  companion  would,  so  far 
as  his  character  could  be  guessed  at  —  for  he  was  closely  muffled  up  —  have 
passed  for  an  apology  and  warrant  for  his  associate.  The  younger  traveller 
was  apparently  in  early  youth,  a  soft  and  gentle  boy,  whose  Sclavonic  gown, 
the  appropriate  dress  of  the  pilgrim,  he  wore  more  closely  drawn  about  him 
than  the  coldness  of  the  weather  seemed  to  authorize  or  recommend.  His 
features,  imperfectly  seen  under  the  hood  of  his  pilgrim’s  dress,  were  pre¬ 
possessing  in  a  high  degree  ;  and  though  he  wore  a  walking  sword,  it  seemed 
rather  to  be  in  compliance  with  general  fashion  than  from  any  violent  pur¬ 
pose  he  did  so.  There  were  traces  of  sadness  upon  his  brow,  and  of  tears 
upon  his  cheeks  ;  and  his  weariness  was  such,  as  even  his  rougher  companion 
seemed  to  sympathize  with,  while  he  privately  participated  also  in  the  sorrow 
which  left  its  marks  upon  a  countenance  so  lovely.  They  spoke  together, 
and  the  elder  of  the  two,  while  he  assumed  the  deferential  air  proper  to  a 
man  of  inferior  rank  addressing  a  superior,  showed  in  tone  and  gesture, 
something  that  amounted  to  interest  and  affection. 

“  Bertram,  my  friend,”  said  the  younger  of  the  two,  “  how  far  are  we  still 
from  Douglas  Castle?  We  have  already  come  farther  than  the  twenty  miles, 
which  thou  didst  say  was  the  distance  from  Cammock  —  or  how  didst  thou 
call  the  last  hostelry  which  we  left  by  daybreak  ?” 

“  Cumnock,  my  dearest  lady — I  beg  ten  thousand  excuses — my  gracious 
young  lord.” 

“  Call  me  Augustine,”  replied  his  comrade,  “  if  you  mean  to  speak  as 
fittest  for  the  time.” 

“Nay,  as  for  that,”  said  Bertram,  “if  your  ladyship  can  condescend  to 
lay  aside  your  quality,  my  own  good  breeding  is  not  so  firmly  sewed  to  me 
but  that  I  can  doff  it,  and  resume  it  again  without  its  losing  a  stitch  ;  and 
since  your  ladyship,  to  whom  I  am  sworn  in  obedience,  is  pleased  to  com¬ 
mand  that  I  should  treat  you  as  my  own  son,  shame  it  were  to  me  if  I  were 
not  to  show  you  the  affection  of  a  father,  more  especially  as  I  may  well  swear 
my  great  oath,  that  I  owe  you  the  duty  of  such,  though  well  I  wot  it  has,  in 
our  case,  been  the  lot  of  the  parent  to  be  maintained  by  the  kindness  and 
liberality  of  the  child ;  for  when  was  it  that  I  hungered  or  thirsted,  and  the 
black  stock^  of  Berkley  did  not  relieve  my  wants?” 

“  I  would  have  it  so,”  answered  the  young  pilgrim  ;  “  I  would  have  it  so. 
What  use  of  the  mountains  of  beef,  and  the  oceans  of  beer,  which  they  say 
our  domains  produce,  if  there  is  a  hungry  heart  among  our  vassalage,  or 
especially  if  thou,  Bertram,  who  hast  served  as  the  minstrel  of  our  house  for 
more  than  twenty  years,  shouldst  experience  such  a  feeling?” 

“  Certes,  lady,”  answered  Bertram,  “  it  would  be  like  the  catastrophe 
which  is  told  of  the  Baron  of  Fastenough,  when  his  last  mouse  was  starved 
to  death  in  the  very  pantry;  and  if  I  escape  this  journey  without  such  a 
calamity,  I  shall  think  myself  out  of  reach  of  thirst  or  famine  for  the  whole 
of  my  life.” 

“  Thou  hast  suffered  already  once  or  twice  by  these  attacks,  my  poor 
friend,”  said  the  lady. 

“  It  is  little,”  answered  Bertram,  “  any  thing  that  I  have  suffered  ;  and  I 
were  ungrateful  to  give  the  inconvenience  of  missing  a  breakfast,  or  making 
an  untimely  dinner,  so  serious  a  name.  But  then  I  hardly  see  how  your 
ladyship  can  endure  this  gear  much  longer.  You  must  yourself  feel,  that 


*  The  table  dormant,  which  stood  in  a  baron’s  hall,  was  often  so  designated. 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


2G5 


tlie  plodding  along  these  high  lands,  of  which  the  Scots  give  us  such  good 
measure  in  their  miles,  is  no  jesting  matter ;  and  as  for  Douglas  Castle,  why 
it  is  still  three  good  miles  ofiV' 

“  The  question  then  is,’’  quoth  the  lady,  heaving  a  sigh,  “  what  we  are  to 
do  when  we  have  so  far  to  travel,  and  when  the  castle  gates  must  be  locked 
long  before  we  arrive  there  ?” 

“  For  that  I  will  pledge  my  word,”  answered  Bertram.  “  The  gates  of 
Douglas,  under  the  care  of  Sir  John  de  Walton,  do  not  open  so  easily 
as  those  of  the  buttery  hatch  at  our  own  castle,  when  it  is  well  oiled ;  and 
if  your  ladyship  take  my  advice,  you  will  turn  southward  ho !  and  in  two 
days  at  farthest,  we  shall  be  in  a  land  where  men’s  wants  are  provided  for, 
as  the  inns  proclaim  it,  with  the  least  possible  delay,  and  the  secret  of  this 
little  journey  shall  never  be  known  to  living  mortal  but  ourselves,  as  sure 
as  1  am  sworn  minstrel,  and  man  of  faith.” 

“  I  thank  thee  for  thy  advice,  mine  honest  Bertram,”  said  the  lady,  “but 
I  cannot  profit  by  it.  Should  thy  knowledge  of  these  parts  possess  thee 
with  an  acquaintance  with  any  decent  house,  whether  it  belong  to  rich  or 
poor,  I  would  willingly  take  quarters  there,  if  I  could  obtain  them  from  this 
time  until  to-morrow  morning.  The  gates  of  Douglas  Castle  will  then  be 
open  to  guests  of  so  peaceful  an  appearance  as  we  carry  with  us,  and — and 
— it  will  out — we  might  have  time  to  make  such  applications  to  our  toilet 
as  might  ensure  us  a  good  reception,  by  drawing  a  comb  through  our  locks, 
or  such  like  foppery.” 

“  Ah,  madam  !”  said  Bertram,  “  were  not  Sir  John  de  Walton  in  question, 
methinks  I  should  venture  to  reply,  that  an  unwashed  brow,  an  unkempt 
head  of  hair,  and  a  look  far  more  saucy  than  your  ladyship  ever  wears,  or 
can  wear,  were  the  proper  disguise  to  trick  out  that  minstrel’s  boy,  whom 
you  wish  to  represent  in  the  present  pageant.” 

“  Do  you  suffer  your  youthful  pupils  to  be  indeed  so  slovenly  and  so  saucy, 
Bertram  ?”  answered  the  lady.  “  I  for  one  will  not  imitate  them  in  that 

f  articular ;  and  whether  Sir  John  be  now  in  the  Castle  of  Douglas  or  not, 
will  treat  the  soldiers  who  hold  so  honourable  a  charge  with  a  washed 
brow,  and  a  head  of  hair  somewhat  ordered.  As  for  going  back  without 
seeing  a  castle  which  has  mingled  even  with  my  very  dreams  —  at  a  word, 
Bertram,  thou  mayst  go  that  way,  but  I  will  not.” 

“  And  if  I  part  with  your  ladyship  on  such  terms,”  responded  the  min¬ 
strel,  “  now  your  frolic  is  so  nearly  accomplished,  it  shall  be  the  foul  fiend 
himself,  and  nothing  more  comely  or  less  dangerous,  that  shall  tear  me  from 
your  side ;  and  for  lodging,  there  is  not  far  from  hence  the  house  of  one 
Tom  Dickson  of  Hazelside,  one  of  the  most  honest  fellows  of  the  Dale,  and 
who,  although  a  labouring  man,  ranked  as  high  as  a  warrior,  when  I  was 
in  this  country,  as  any  noble  gentleman  that  rode  in  the  band  of  the 
Douglas.” 

“lie  is  then  a  soldier?”  said  the  lady. 

“  When  his  country  or  his  lord  need  his  sword,”  replied  Bertram — “  and, 
to  say  the  truth,  they  are  seldom  at  peace ;  but  otherwise,  he  is  no  enemy, 
save  to  the  wolf  which  plunders  his  herds.” 

“  But  forget  not,  my  trusty  guide,”  replied  the  lady,  “  that  the  blood  in 
our  veins  is  English,  and  consequently,  that  we  are  in  danger  from  all  who 
call  themselves  foes  to  the  ruddy  Cross.” 

“  Do  not  fear  this  man’s  faith,”  answered  Bertram.  “  You  may  trust  to 
him  as  to  the  best  knight  or  gentleman  of  the  land.  We  may  make  good 
our  lodging  by  a  tune  or  a  song  ;  and  it  may  remember  you  that  I  under¬ 
took  (provided  it  pleased  your  ladyship)  to  temporize  a  little  with  the  Scots, 
who,  poor  souls,  love  minstrelsy,  and  when  they  have  but  a  silver  penny, 
will  willingly  bestow  it  to  encourage  the  gay  science  —  I  promised  you,  I 
say,  that  we  should  be  as  welcome  to  them  as  if  we  had  been  born  amidst 
their  own  wild  hills ;  and  for  the  best  that  such  a  house  as  Dickson’s  affords, 


X 


266 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


the  glee-man's  son,  fair  lady,  shall  not  breathe  a  wish  in  vain.  And  now, 
will  you  speak  your  mind  to  your  devoted  friend  and  adopted  father,  or 
rather  your  sworn  servant  and  guide,  Bertram  the  Minstrel,  what  it  is  your 
pleasure  to  do  in  this  matter  ?" 

“  0,  we  will  certainly  accept  of  the  Scot's  hospitality,"  said  the  lady, 
“your  minstrel  word  being  plighted  that  he  is  a  true  man. — Tom  Dickson, 
call  you  him  ?" 

“  Yes,"  replied  Bertram,  “such  is  his  name;  and  by  looking  on  these 
sheep,  I  am  assured  that  we  are  now  upon  his  land." 

“  Indeed  !"  said  the  lady,  with  some  surprise ;  “  and  how  is  your  wisdom 
aware  of  that?" 

“  I  see  the  first  letter  of  his  name  marked  upon  this  flock,"  answered  the 
guide.  “  Ah,  learning  is  what  carries  a  man  through  the  world,  as  well  as 
if  he  had  the  ring  by  virtue  of  which  old  minstrels  tell  that  Adam  under¬ 
stood  the  language  of  the  beasts  in  paradise.  Ah,  madam  !  there  is  more 
wit  taught  in  the  shepherd's  shieling  than  the  lady  thinks  of,  who  sews  her 
painted  seam  in  her  summer  bower." 

“  Be  it  so,  good  Bertram.  And  although  not  so  deeply  skilled  in  the 
knowledge  of  written  language  as  you  are,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  esteem 
its  value  more  than  I  actually  do ;  so  hold  we  on  the  nearest  road  to  this 
Tom  Dickson's,  whose  very  sheep  tell  of  his  whereabout.  I  trust  we  have 
not  very  far  to  go,  although  the  knowledge  that  our  journey  is  shortened  by 
a  few  miles  has  so  much  recovered  my  fatigue,  that  methinks  I  could  dance 
all  the  rest  of  the  way." 


Ctinplir  tjjt  lEt’nElf. 

Rosalind.  Well,  this  is  the  Forest  of  Arden. 

Touchstone.  Ay,  now  am  1  in  Arden;  the  more  fool  I.  When  I  was  at 
home  I  was  in  a  better  place ;  but  travellers  must  be  content. 

Rosalind.  Ay,  be  so,  good  Touchstone,  Look  you,  who  comes  here ;  a 
young  man  and  an  old,  in  solemn  talk. 

As  You  Like  It.  Scene  IV.  Act  2. 

As  the  travellers  spoke  together,  they  reached  a  turn  of  the  path  which 
presented  a  more  extensive  prospect  than  the  broken  face  of  the  country 
had  yet  shown  them.  A  valley,  through  which  flowed  a  small  tributary 
stream,  exhibited  the  wild,  but  not  unpleasant,  features  of  “a  lone  vale  of, 
green  braken  here  and  there  besprinkled  with  groups  of  alder-trees,  of 
hazels,  and  of  copse-oakwood,  which  had  maintained  their  stations  in  the 
recesses'  of  the  valley,  although  they  had  vanished  from  the  loftier  and  more 
exposed  sides  of  the  hills.  The  farm-house  or  mansion-house,  (for,  from 
its  size  and  appearance,  it  might  have  been  the  one  or  the  other,)  was  a 
large  but  low  building,  and  the  walls  of  the  out-houses  were  sufficiently 
strong  to  resist  any  band  of  casual  depredators.  There  was  nothing,  how¬ 
ever,  which  could  withstand  a  more  powerful  force ;  for,  in  a  country  laid 
waste  by  war,  the  farmer  was  then,  as  now,  obliged  to  take  his  chance  of 
the  great  evils  attendant  upon  that  state  of  things ;  and  his  condition,  never  a 
very  eligible  one,  was  rendered  considerably  worse  by  the  insecurity  attending 
it.  About  half  a  mile  farther  was  seen  a  Gothic  building  of  very  small  ex¬ 
tent,  having  a  half  dismantled  chapel,  which  the  minstrel  pronounced  to  be 
the  Abbey  of  Saint  Bride.  “The  place,"  he  said,  “I  understand,  is  allowed 
to  subsist,  as  two  or  three  old  monks  and  as  many  nuns,  whom  it  contains, 
are  permitted  by  the  English  to  serve  God  there,  and  sometimes  to  give  relief 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


2G7 


to  Scottish  travellers ;  and  who  have  accordingly  taken  assurance  with  Sir 
John  de  Walton,  and  accepted  as  their  superior  a  churchman  on  whom  he 
thinks  he  can  depend.  But  if  these  guests  happen  to  reveal  any  secrets, 
they  are,  by  some  means  or  other,  believed  to  fly  towards  the  English 
governor ;  and  therefore,  unless  your  ladyship’s  commands  be  positive,  I 
think  we  had  best  not  trust  ourselves  to  their  hospitality.” 

“  Of  a  surety,  no,”  said  the  lady,  “  if  thou  canst  provide  me  with  lodg¬ 
ings  where  we  shall  have  more  prudent  hosts.” 

At  this  moment,  two  human  forms  were  seen  to  approach  the  farm-house 
in  a  different  direction  from  the  travellers,  and  speaking  so  high,  in  a  tone 
apparently  of  dispute,  that  the  minstrel  and  his  companion  could  distinguish 
their  voices  though  the  distance  was  considerable.  Having  screened  his 
eyes  with  his  hand  for  some  minutes,  Bertram  at  length  exclaimed,  “By 
our  Lady,  it  is  my  old  friend,  Tom  Dickson,  sure  enough! — What  can  make 
him  in  such  bad  humour  with  the  lad,  who,  I  think,  may  be  the  little  wild 
boy,  his  son  Charles,  who  used  to  run  about  and  plait  rushes  some  twenty 
years  ago  ?  It  is  lucky,  however,  we  have  found  our  friends  astir ;  for  I 
warrant,  Tom  hath  a  hearty  piece  of  beef  in,  the  pot  ere  he  goes  to  bed,  and 
he  must  have  changed  his  wont  if  an  old  friend  hath  not  his  share  ;  and 
who  knows,  had  we  come  later,  at  what  hour  they  may  now  find  it  conve¬ 
nient  to  drop  latch  and  draw  bolt  so  near  a  hostile  garrison  ;  for  if  we  call 
things  by  their  right  names,  such  is  the  proper  term  for  an  English  garrison 
in  the  castle  of  a  Scottish  nobleman.” 

“Foolish  man,”  answered  the  lady,  “thou  judgest  of  Sir  John  de  Walton 
as  thou  wouldst  of  some  rude  boor,  to  whom  the  opportunity  of  doing  what 
he  wills  is  a  temptation  and  license  to  exercise  cruelty  and  oppression. 
Now,  I  could  plight  you  my  word,  that,  setting  apart  the  quarrel  of  the 
kingdoms,  which,  of  course,  will  be  fought  out  in  fair  battles  on  both  sides, 
you  will-find  that  English  and  Scottish,  within  this  domain,  and  within  the 
reach  of  Sir  John  de  Walton’s  influence,  live  together  as  that  same  flock  of 
sheep  and  goats  do  with  the  shepherd’s  dog ;  a  foe  from  whom  they  fly  upon 
certain  occasions,  but  around  whom  they  nevertheless  eagerly  gather  for 
protection  should  a  wolf  happen  to  show  himself.” 

“  It  is  not  to  your  ladyship,”  answered  Bertram,  “  that  I  should  venture 
to  state  my  opinion  of  such  matters ;  but  the  young  knight,  when  he  is 
sheathed  in  armour,  is  a  different  being  from  him  who  feasts  in  halls  among 
press  of  ladies ;  and  he  that  feeds  by  another  man’s  fireside,  and  when  his 
landlord,  of  all  men  in  the  world,  chances  to  be  the  Black  Douglas,  has 
reason  to  keep  his  eyes  about  him  as  he  makes  his  meal :  —  but  it  were 
better  I  looked  after  our  own  evening  refreshment,  than  that  I  stood  here 
gaping  and  talking  about  other  folk’s  matters.”  So  saying,  he  called  out 
in  a  thundering  tone  of  voice,  “Di^son!  —  what  ho,  Thomas  Dickson!  — 
will  you  not  acknowledge  an  old  mend  who  is  much  disposed  to  trust  his 
supper  and  night’s  lodging  to  your  hospitality  ?” 

The  Scotchman,  attracted  by  the  call,  looked  first  along  the  banks  of  the 
river,  then  upward  to  the  bare  side  of  the  hill,  and  at  length  cast  his  eyes 
upon  the  two  figures  who  were  descending  from  it. 

As  if  he  felt  the  night  colder  while  he  advanced  from  the  more  sheltered 
part  of  the  valley  to  meet  them,  the  Douglas  Dale  fiirmer  wrapped  closer 
around  him  the  grey  plaid,  which,  from  an  early  period,  has  been  used  by 
the  shepherds  of  the  south  of  Scotland,  and  the  appearance  of  which  gives 
a  romantic  air  to  the  peasantry  and  middle  classes ;  and  which,  although 
less  brilliant  and  gaudy  in  its  colours,  is  as  picturesque  in  its  arrangement 
as  the  more  military  tartan  mantle  of  the  Highlands.  When  they  ap¬ 
proached  near  to  each  other,  the  lady  might  observe  that  this  friend  of  her 
guide  was  a  stout  athletic  man,  somewhat  past  the  middle  of  life,  and 
already  showing  Ynarks  of  the  approach,  but  none  of  the  infirmities,  of  age, 
upon  a  countenance  which  had  been  exposed  to  many  a  storm.  Sharp  eyes, 


268 


WAVE  11  LEY  NOVELS. 


too,  and  a  quick  observation,  exhibited  signs  of  vigilance,  acquired  by  one 
who  had  lived  long  in  a  country  where  he  had  constant  occasion  for  looking 
around  him  with  caution.  His  features  were  still  swollen  with  displeasure; 
and  the  handsome  young  man  who  attended  him  seemed  to  be  discontented, 
like  one  who  had  undergone  no  gentle  marks  of  his  father’s  indignation, 
and  who,  from  the  sullen  expression  which  mingled  with  an  appearance  of 
shame  on  his  countenance,  seemed  at  once  affected  by  anger  and  remorse. 

“  Do  you  not  remember  me,  old  friend  said  Bertram,  as  they  approached 
within  a  distance  for  communing ;  “  or  have  the  twenty  yefws  which  have 
marched  over  us  since  we  met,  carried  along  with  them  all  remembrance 
of  Bertram,  the  English  minstrel  ?” 

“  In  troth,”  answered  the  Scot,  “  it  is  not  for  want  of  plenty  of  your 
countrymen  to  keep  you  in  my  remembrance,  and  I  have  hardly  heard  one 
of  them  so  much  as  whistle 

‘  Hey,  now  the  day  dawns,” 

but  it  has  recalled  some  note  of  your  blythe  rebeck ;  and  yet,  such  animals 
are  we,  that  I  had  forgot  the  mien  of  my  old  friend,  and  scarcely  knew  him 
at  a  distance.  But  we  have  had  trouble  lately ;  there  are  a  thousand  of 
your  countrymen  that  keep  garrison  in  the  Perilous  Castle  of  Douglas 
jmnder,  as  well  as  in  other  places  through  the  vale,  and  that  is  but  a  woful 
sight  for  a  true  Scotchman  —  even  my  own  poor  house  has  not  escaped  the 
dignity  of  a  garrison  of  a  man-at-arms,  besides  two  or  three  archer  knaves, 
and  one  or  two  slips  of  mischievous  boys  called  pages,  and  so  forth,  who 
will  not  let  a  man  say,  ‘  this  is  my  own,’  by  his  own  fireside.  Do  not, 
therefore,  think  hardly  of  me,  old  comrade,  if  I  show  you  a  welcome  some¬ 
thing  colder  than  you  might  expect  from  a  friend  of  other  days ;  for,  by 
Saint  Bride  of  Douglas,  I  have  scarcely  anything  left  to  which  I  can  say 
welcome.” 

“  Small  welcome  will  serve,”  said  Bertram.  “  My  son,  make  thy  reve¬ 
rence  to  thy  father’s  old  friend.  Augustine  is  learning  my  joyous  trade, 
but  he  will  need  some  practice  ere  he  can  endure  its  fatigues.  If  you  could 
give  him  some  little  matter  of  food,  and  a  quiet  bed  for  the  night,  there’s 
no  fear  but  that  we  shall  both  do  well  enough ;  for  I  dare  say,  when  you 
travel  with  my  friend  Charles  there, — if  that  tall  youth  chance  to  be  my  old 
acquaintance  Charles, — you  will  find  yourself  accommodated  when  his  wants 
are  once  well  provided  for.” 

“Nay,  the  foul  fiend  take  me  if  I  do,”  answered  the  Scottish  husband¬ 
man.  “  I  know  not  what  the  lads  of  this  day  are  made  of — not  of  the  same 
clay  as  their  fathers,  to  be  sure  —  not  sprung  from  their  heather,  which 
fears  neither  wind  nor  rain,  but  from  some  delicate  plant  of  a  foreign  coun¬ 
try,  which  will  not  thrive  unless  it  be  nourished  under  glass,  with  a  mur¬ 
rain  to  it.  The  good  Lord  of  Douglas — I  have  been  his  henchman,  and  can 
vouch  for  it  —  did  not  in  his  pagehood  desire  such  food  and  lodging  as,  in 
the  present  day,  will  hardly  satisfy  such  a  lad  as  your  friend  Charles.” 

“Nay,”  said  Bertram,  “it  is  not  that  my  Augustine  is  over  nice;  but, 
for  other  reasons,  I  must  request  of  you  a  bed  to  himself ;  he  hath  of  late 
been  unwell.” 

“Ay,  I  understand,”  said  Dickson,  “your  son  hath  had  a  touch  of  that 
illness  which  terminates  so  frequently  in  the  black  death  you  English  folk 
die  of?  We  hear  much  of  the  havoc  it  has  made  to  the  southward.  Comes 
it  hitherward  ?” 

Bertram  nodded. 

“  Well,  my  father’s  house,”  continued  the  farmer,  “  hath  more  rooms  than 
one,  and  your  son  shall  have  one  well-aired  and  comfortable ;  and  for  sup¬ 
per,  ye  shall  have  a  part  of  what  is  prepared  for  your  countrymen,  though 
I  would  rather  have  their  room  than  their  company.  Since  I  am  bound  to 
feed  a  score  of  them,  they  will  not  dispute  the  claim  of  such  a  skilful  min- 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


260 


strel  as  thou  art  to  a  night’s  hospitality.  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  I  must 
do  their  bidding  even  in  my  own  house.  Well-a-day,  if  my  good  lord  were 
in  possession  of  his  own,  I  have  heart  and  hand  enough  to  turn  the  whole 
of  them  out  of  my  house,  like  —  like” - 

“  To  speak  plainly,”  said  Bertram,  “  like  a  southern  strolling  gang  from 
Redesdale,  whom  I  have  seen  you  fling  out  of  your  house  like  a  litter  of  blind 
puppies,  when  not  one  of  them  looked  behind  to  see  who  had  done  him  the 
courtesy  until  he  was  half-way  to  Cairntable.” 

“  Ay,”  answered  the  Scotchman,  drawing  himself  up  at  least  six  inches 
taller  than  before ;  “  then  I  had  a  house  of  my  own,  and  a  cause  and  an 
arm  to  keep  it.  Now  I  am — what  signifies  it  what  I  am  ? — the  noblest  lord 
in  Scotland  is  little  better.” 

“  Truly,  friend,”  said  Bertram,  “  now  you  view  this  matter  in  a  rational 
light.  I  do  not  say  that  the  wisest,  the  richest,  or  the  strongest  man  in 
this  world  has  any  right  to  tyrannize  over  his  neighbour,  because  he  is  the 
more  weak,  ignorant,  and  the  poorer ;  but  yet  if  he  does  enter  into  such  a 
controversy,  he  must  submit  to  the  course  of  nature,  and  that  will  always 
give  the  advantage  in  the  tide  of  battle  to  wealth,  strength,  and  health.” 

“  With  permission,  however,”  answered  Dickson,  “  the  weaker  party,  if 
he  use  his  faculties  to  the  utmost,  may,  in  the  long  run,  obtain  revenge 
upon  the  author  of  his  sufferings,  which  would  be  at  least  compensation  for 
his  temporary  submission  ;  and  he  acts  simply  as  a  man,  and  most  foolishly 
as  a  Scotchman,  whether  he  sustain  these  wrongs  with  the  insensibility  of 
an  idiot,  or  whether  he  endeavour  to  revenge  them  before  Heaven’s  ap¬ 
pointed  time  has  arrived. —  But  if  I  talk  thus  I  shall  scare  you,  as  I  have 
scared  some  of  your  countrymen,  from  accepting  a  meal  of  meat  and  a 
night’s  lodging,  in  a  house  where  you  might  be  called  with  the  morning  to 
a  bloody  settlement  of  a  national  quarrel.” 

“  Never  mind,”  said  Bertram,  “  we  have  been  known  to  each  other  of  old  ; 
and  I  am  no  more  afraid  of  meeting  unkindness  in  your  house,  than  you 
expect  me  to  come  here  for  the  purpose  of  adding  to  the  injuries  of  which 
you  complain.” 

“  So  be  it,”  said  Dickson ;  ‘‘  and  you,  my  old  friend,  are  as  welcome  to 
my  abode  as  when  it  never  held  any  guest,  save  of  my  own  inviting. — And 
you,  my  young  friend.  Master  Augustine,  shall  be  looked  after  as  well  as 
if  you  came  with  a  gay  brow  and  a  light  cheek,  such  as  best  becomes  the 
(jay  science.^^ 

“  But  wherefore,  may  I  ask,”  said  Bertram,  “  so  much  displeased  but 
now  at  my  young  friend  Charles  ?” 

The  youth  answered  before  his  father  had  time  to  speak.  “  My  father, 
good  sir,  may  put  what  show  upon  it  he  will,  but  shrewd  and  wise  men  wax 
weak  in  the  brain  these  troublous  times.  He  saw  two  or  three  wolves  seize 
upon  three  of  our  choicest  wethers ;  and  because  I  shouted  to  give  the 
alarm  to  the  English  garrison,  he  was  angry  as  if  he  could  have  murdered 
me — just  for  saving  the  sheep  from  the  jaws  that  would  have  devoured 
them.” 

“  This  is  a  strange  account  of  thee,  old  friend,”  said  Bertram.  “  Dost 
thou  connive  with  the  wolves  in  robbing  thine  own  fold  ?” 

“  Why,  let  it  pass,  if  thou  lovest  me,”  answered  the  countryman ; 
“  Charles  could  tell  thee  something  nearer  the  truth  if  he  had  a  mind;  but 
for  the  present  let  it  pass.” 

The  minstrel,  perceiving  that  the  Scotchman  was  fretted  and  embarrassed 
with  the  subject,  pressed  it  no  farther. 

At  this  moment,  in  crossing  the  threshold  of  Thomas  Dickson’s  house, 
they  were  greeted  with  sounds  from  two  English  soldiers  within.  “  Quiet, 
Anthony,”  said  one  voice, —  “  quiet,  man  !  —  for  the  sake  of  common  sense, 
if  not  common  manners  ; — Robin  Hood  himself  never  sat  down  to  his  board 
ere  the  roast  was  ready.” 

x2 


WAVE  RLE Y  NOVELS. 


270 

“  Ready  quoth  another  rough  voice  ;  “it  is  roasting  to  rags,  and  small 
had  been  the  knave  Dickson’s  share,  even  of  these  rags,  had  it  not  been  the 
express  orders  of  the  worshipful  Sir  John  de  Walton,  that  the  soldiers  who 
lie  at  outposts  should  afford  to  the  inmates  such  provisions  as  are  not  neces¬ 
sary  for  their  own  subsistence.” 

“  Hush,  Anthony,  —  hush,  for  shame  I”  replied  his  fellow-soldier,  “  if  ever 
I  heard  our  host’s  step,  I  heard  it  this  instant ;  so  give  over  thy  grumbling, 
since  our  captain,  as  we  all  know,  hath  prohibited,  under  strict  penalties, 
all  quarrels  between  his  followers  and  the  people  of  the  country.” 

“  I  am  sure,”  replied  Anthony,  “  that  I  have  ministered  occasion  to  none; 
but  I  would  I  were  equally  certain  of  the  good  meaning  of  this  sullen-browed 
Thomas  Dickson  towards  the  English  soldiers,  for  I  seldom  go  to  bed  in  this 
dungeon  of  a  house,  but  I  expect  my  throat  will  gape  as  wide  as  a  thirsty 
oyster  before  I  awaken.  Here  he  comes,  however,”  added  Anthony,  sink¬ 
ing  his  sharp  tones  as  he  spoke ;  “  and  I  hope  to  be  excommunicated  if  he 
has  not  brought  with  him  that  mad  animal,  his  son  Charles,  and  two  other 
strangers,  hungry  enough.  I’ll  be  sworn,  to  eat  up  the  whole  supper,  if  they 
do  us  no  other  injury.” 

“  Shame  of  thyself,  Anthony,”  repeated  his  comrade ;  “  a  good  archer 
thou  as  ever  wore  Kendal  green,  and  yet  affect  to  be  frightened  for  two 
tired  travellers,  and  alarmed  for  the  inroad  their  hunger  may  make  on  the 
night’s  meal.  There  are  four  or  five  of  us  here  —  we  have  our  bows  and 
our  bills  within  reach,  and  scorn  to  be  chased  from  our  supper,  or  cheated 
out  of  our  share  of  it  by  a  dozen  Scotchmen,  whether  stationary  or  strollers. 
How  say’st  thou  ?”  he  added,  turning  to  Dickson  —  “  How  say  ye,  quarter¬ 
master?  it  is  no  secret,  that  by  the  directions  given  to  our  post,  we  must 
enquire  into  the  occupations  of  such  guests  as  you  may  receive  besides  our¬ 
selves,  your  unwilling  inmates ;  you  are  as  ready  for  supper,  I  warrant,  aa 
supper  is  for  you,  and  I  will  only  delay  you  and  my  friend  Anthony,  who 
becomes  dreadfully  impatient,  until  you  answer  two  or  three  questions  which 
you  wot  of.” 

“ Bend-the-Bow,”  answered  Dickson,  “thou  art  a  civil  fellow;  and  although 
it  is  something  hard  to  be  constrained  to  give  an  account  of  one’s  friends, 
because  they  chance  to  quarter  in  one’s  own  house  for  a  night  or  two,  yet  1 
must  submit  to  the  times,  and  make  no  vain  opposition.  You  may  mark 
down  in  your  breviary  there,  that  upon  the  fourteenth  day  before  Palm 
Sunday,  Thomas  Dickson  brought  to  his  house  of  Hazelside,  in  which  you 
hold  garrison,  by  orders  from  t^he  English  governor.  Sir  John  de  Walton, 
two  strangers,  to  whom  the  said  Thomas  Dickson  had  promised  refreshment, 
and  a  bed  for  the  evening,  if  it  be  lawful  at  this  time  and  place.” 

“  But  what  are  they,  these  strangers  ?”  said  Anthony,  somewhat  sharply. 

“A  fine  world  the  while,”  murmured  Thomas  Dickson,  “that  an  honest 
man  should  be  forced  to  answer  the  questions  of  every  paltry  companion  V* 
—  But  he  mitigated  his  voice  and  proceeded.  “  The  eldest  of  my  guests  is 
Bertram,  an  ancient  English  minstrel,  who  is  bound  on  his  own  errand  to 
the  Castle  of  Douglas,  and  will  communicate  what  he  has  to  say  of  news  to 
Sir  John  de  Walton  himself.  I  have  known  him  for  twenty  years,  and 
never  heard  any  thing  of  him  save  that  he  was  good  man  and  true.  The 
younger  stranger  is  his  son,  a  lad  recovering  from  the  English  disorder, 
which  has  been  raging  far  and  wide  in  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland.” 

“  Tell  me,”  sajd  Bend-the-Bow,  “  this  same  Bertram,  was  he  not  about  a 
year  since  in  the  service  of  some  noble  lady  in  our  own  country  ?” 

“  I  have  heard  so,”  answered  Dickson. 

“We  shall,  in  that  case,  I  think,  incur  little  danger,”  replied  Bend-the- 
Bow,  “by  allowing  this  old  man  and  his  son  to  proceed  on  their  journey  to 
the  castle.” 

“You  are  my  elder  and  my  better,”  answered  Anthony;  “but  I  may 
remind  you  that  it  is  not  so  clearly  our  duty  to  give  free  passage,  into  a 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


271 


garrison  of  a  thousand  men  of  all  ranks,  to  a  youth  who  has  been  so  lately 
attacked  by  a  contagious  disorder ;  and  1  question  if  our  commander  would 
not  rather  hear  that  the  Black  Douglas,  with  a  hundred  devils  as  black  as 
himself,  since  such  is  his  colour,  bad  taken  possession  of  the  outposts  of 
llazelside  with  sword  and  battle-axe,  than  that  one  person  suffering  under 
this  fell  sickness  had  entered  peaceably,  and  by  the  open  wicket  of  tho 
castle/' 

“  There  is  something  in  what  thou  sayest,  Anthony,"  replied  his  comrade; 
“  and  considering  that  our  governor,  since  he  has  undertaken  the  trouble¬ 
some  job  of  keeping  a  castle  which  is  esteemed  so  much  more  dangerous 
than  any  other  within  Scotland,  has  become  one  of  the  most  cautious  and 
jealous  men  in  the  world,  we  had  better,  I  think,  inform  him  of  the  circum¬ 
stance,  and  take  his  commands  how  the  stripling  is  to  be  dealt  with." 

“  Content  am  I,"  said  the  archer  ;  “  and  first,  methinks,  I  would  just,  in 
order  to  show  that  we  know  what  belongs  to  such  a  case,  ask  the  stripling 
a  few  questions,  as  how  long  he  has  been  ill,  by  what  physicians  he  has 
been  attended,  when  he  was  cured,  and  how  his  cure  is  certified,  &c." 

“  True,  brother,"  said  Bend-the-Bow.  “  Thou  hearest,  minstrel,  w^e  would 
ask  thy  son  some  questions  —  What  has  become  of  him?  — he  was  in  this 
apartment  but  now." 

“  So  please  you,"  answered  Bertram,  “he  did  but  pass  through  the  apart¬ 
ment.  Mr.  Thomas  Dickson,  at  my  entreaty,  as  well  as  in  respectful  rev¬ 
erence  to  your  honour’s  health,  carried  him  through  the  room  without  tar- 
riance,  judging  his  own  bed-chamber  the  fittest  place  for  a  young  man 
recovering  from  a  severe  illness,  and  after  a  day  of  no  small  fatigue." 

“Well,"  answered  the  elder  archer,  “though  it  is  uncommon  for  men 
who,  like  us,  live  by  bow-string  and  quiver,  to  meddle  with  interrogations 
and  examinations  ;  yet,  as  the  case  stands,  we  must  make  some  enquiries 
^of  your  son,  ere  we  permit  him  to  set  forth  to  the  Castle  of  Douglas,  where 
you  say  his  errand  leads  him." 

“  Bather  my  errand,  noble  sir,"  said  the  minstrel,  “  than  that  of  the  young 
man  himself." 

“  If  such  be  the  case,"  answered  Bend-the-Bow,  “we  may  sufficiently  do 
our  duty  by  sending  yourself,  with  the  first  grey  light  of  dawn,  to  the 
castle,  and  letting  your  son  remain  in  bed,  which  I  warrant  is  the  fittest 
place  for  him,  until  we  shall  receive  Sir  John  de  Walton’s  commands 
whether  he  is  to  be  brought  onward  or  not." 

“  And  we  may  as  well,"  said  Anthony,  “  since  we  are  to  have  this  man’s 
company  at  supper,  make  him  acquainted  with  the  rules  of  the  out-garrison 
stationed  here  for  the  time."  So  saying,  he  pulled  a  scroll  from  his  leathern 
pouch,  and  said,  “  Minstrel,  canst  thou  read  ?" 

“  It  becomes  my  calling,"  said  the  minstrel. 

“  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  mine,  though,"  answered  the  archer,  “  and 
therefore  do  thou  read  these  regulations  aloud ;  for  since  I  do  not  compre¬ 
hend  these  characters  by  sight,  I  lose  no  chance  of  having  them  read  over 
to  me  as  often  as  I  can,  that  I  may  fix  their  sense  in  my  memory.  So 
beware  that  thou  readest  the  words  letter  for  letter  as  they  are  set  down  ; 
for  thou  dost  so  at  thy  peril.  Sir  Minstrel,  if  thou  readest  not  like  a  true  man." 

“On  my  minstrel  word,"  said  Bertram,  and  began  to  read  excessively 
slow  ;  for  he  wished  to  gain  a  little  time  for  consideration,  which  he  foresaw 
would  be  necessary  to  prevent  his  being  separated  from  his  mistress,  which 
was  likely  to  occasion  her  much  anxiety  and  distress.  lie  therefore  began 
thus  :  —  “  ‘  Outpost  at  llazelside,' the  steading  of  Goodman  Thomas  Dickson* 
— Ay,  Thomas,  and  is  thy  house  so  called?’’ 

“It  is  the  ancient  name  of  the  steading,"  said  the  Scot,  “being  sur¬ 
rounded  by  a  hazel-shaw,  or  thicket." 

“  Hold  your  chattering  tongue,  minstrel,"  said  Anthony,  “  and  proceed, 
as  you  value  your  ears,  which  you  seem  dis[»osed  to  make  less  use  of." 


272 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


“  ‘  Ilis  garrison,’  ”  proceeded  the  minstrel,  reading,  “  ‘  consists  of  a  lance 
•with  its  furniture.’  What,  then,  a  lance,  in  other  words,  a  belted  knight, 
commands  this  party  ?” 

“ ’Tis  no  concern  of  thine,”  said  the  archer. 

“  But  it  is,”  answered  the  minstrel ;  “  we  have  a  right  to  be  examined  by 
the  highest  person  in  presence.” 

“  I  will  show  thee,  thou  rascal,”  said  the  archer,  starting  up,  “  that  I  am 
lance  enough  for  thee  to  reply  to,  and  I  will  break  thy  head  if  thou  say’st  a 
word  more.” 

“  Take  care,  brother  Anthony,”  said  his  comrade,  “  we  are  to  use  tra¬ 
vellers  courteously  —  and,  with  your  leave,  those  travellers  best  who  come 
from  our  native  land.” 

“  It  is  even  so  stated  here,”  said  the  minstrel,  and  he  proceeded  to  read : 
— “  ‘  The  watch  at  this  outpost  of  Hazelside*  shall  stop  and  examine  all 
travellers  passing  by  the  said  station,  suffering  such  to  pass  onward  to  the 
town  of  Douglas  or  to  Douglas  Castle,  always  interrogating  them  with 
civility,  and  detaining  and  turning  them  back  if  there  arise  matter  of  sus¬ 
picion  ;  but  conducting  themselves  in  all  matters  civilly  and  courteously  to 
the  people  of  the  country,  and  to  those  who  travel  in  it.’  You  see,  most 
excellent  and  valiant  archer,”  added  the  commentator  Bertram,  “  that  cour¬ 
tesy  and  civilitjy  are,  above  all,  recommended  to  your  worship  in  your  con¬ 
duct  towards  the  inhabitants,  and  those  passengers  who,  like  us,  may  chance 
to  fall  under  your  rules  in  such  matters.” 

“  I  am  not  to  be  told  at  this  time  of  day,”  said  the  archer,  “how  to  con¬ 
duct  myself  in  the  discharge  of  my  duties.  Let  me  advise  you,  Sir  Minstrel, 
to  be  frank  and  open  in  your  answers  to  our  enquiries,  and  you  shall  have 
no  reason  to  complain.” 

“I  hope  at  all  events,”  said  the  minstrel,  “to  have  your  favour  for  my 
son,  who  is  a  delicate  stripling,  and  not  accustomed  to  play  his  part  among 
the  crew  which  inhabit  this  wild  world.” 

“Well,”  continued  the  elder  and  more  civil  of  the  two  archers,  “if  thy 
son  be  a  novice  in  this  terrestrial  navigation,  I  warrant  that  thou,  my  friend, 
from  thy  look  and  manner  of  speech,  hast  enough  of  skill  to  use  thy  com¬ 
pass.  To  comfort  thee,  although  thou  must  thyself  answer  the  questions 
of  our  governor  or  deputy-governor,  in  order  that  he  may  see  there  is  no 
offence  in  thee,  I  think  there  may  be  permission  granted  for  thy  son’s 
residing  here  in  the  convent  hard  by,  (where  the  nuns,  by  the  way,  are  as 
old  as  the  monks,  and  have  nearly  as  long  beards,  so  thou  mayst  be  easy 
about  thy  son’s  morals,)  until  thou  hast  done  thy  business  at  Douglas 
Castle,  and  art  ready  to  resume  thy  journey.” 

“  If  such  permission,”  said  the  minstrel,  “  can  be  obtained,  I  should  be 
better  pleased  to  leave  him  at  the  abbey,  and  go  myself,  in  the  first  place, 
to  take  the  directions  of  your  commanding  officer.” 

“  Certainly,”  answered  the  archer,  “that  will  be  the  safest  and  best  way; 
and  with  a  piece  or  two  of  money,  thou  mayst  secure  the  protection  of  the 
abbot.” 

“  Thou  say’st  well,”  answered  the  minstrel ;  “  I  have  known  life,  I  have 
known  every  stile,  gap,  pathway,  and  pass  of  this  wilderness  of  ours  for 
some  thirty  years ;  and  he  that  cannot  steer  his  course  fairly  through  it 
like  an  able  seaman,  after  having  served  such  an  apprenticeship,  can  hardly 
ever  be  taught,  were  a  century  to  be  given  him  to  learn  it  in.” 

“  Since  thou  art  so  expert  a  mariner,”  answered  the  archer  Anthony, 
“  thou  hast,  I  warrant  me,  met  in  thy  wanderings  a  potation  called  a  morn¬ 
ing’s  draught,  which  they  who  are  conducted  by  others,  where  they  them- 

*  [Hazelside  Place,  the  fief  granted  to  Thomas  Dickson  by  William  the  Hardy,  seventh  Lord  Douglas,  is 
still  pointed  out  about  two  miles  to  the  southwest  of  the  Castle  Dangerous.  Dickson  was  sixty  years  of  age 
at  the  time  when  Lord  James  first  appeared  in  Douglasdale.j  His  heirs  kept  possession  of  the  fief  for  cen¬ 
turies;  and  some  resfiectable  gentlemen’s  farnibes  in  Lanarkshire  still  trace  themselves  to  this  ancestor.— 
F'rom  Notes  bi‘  Mr.  Haddow.'i 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS.  273 

selves  lack  experience,  are  used  to  bestow  upon  those  who  undertake  tho 
task  of  guide  upon  such  an  occasion  V’ 

“  I  understand  you,  sir,^^  quoth  the  minstrel ;  “  and  although  money,  or 
drink-geld,  as  the  Fleming  calls  it,  is  rather  a  scarce  commodity  in  tho 
purse  of  one  of  my  calling,  yet  according  to  my  feeble  ability,  thou  shalt 
have  no  cause  to  complain  that  thine  eyes  or  those  of  thy  comrades  have 
been  damaged  by  a  Scottish  mist,  while  we  can  find  an  English  coin  to  pay 
for  the  good  liquor  which  would  wash  them  clear/’ 

“Content,”  said  the  archer;  “we  now  understand  each  other;  and  if 
difficulties  arise  on  the  road,  thou  shalt  not  want  the  countenance  of  Anthony 
to  sail  triumphantly  through  them.  But  thou  hadst  better  let  thy  son  know 
soon  of  the  early  visit  to  the  abbot  to-morrow%  for  thou  mayst  guess  that  wo 
cannot  and  dare  not  delay  our  departure  for  the  convent  a  minute  after  tho 
eastern  sky  is  ruddy ;  and,  with  other  infirmities,  young  men  often  aro 
prone  to  laziness  and  a  love  of  ease.” 

“  Thou  shalt  have  no  reason  to  think  so,”  answered  the  minstrel ;  “  not 
the  lark  himself,  when  waked  by  the  first  ray  peeping  over  the  black  cloud, 
springs  more  lightly  to  the  sky,  than  will  my  Augustine  answer  the  same 
brilliant  summons.  And  now  we  understand  each  other,  I  would  only  fur¬ 
ther  pray  you  to  forbear  light  talk  while  my  son  is  in  your  company, — a  boy 
of  innocent  life,  and  timid  in  conversation.” 

“Nay,  jolly  minstrel,”  said  the  elder  archer,  “thou  givest  us  here  too 
gross  an  example  of  Satan  reproving  sin.  If  thou  hast  followed  thy  craft 
for  twenty  years,  as  thou  pretendest,  thy  son,  having  kept  thee  company 
since  childhood,  must  by  this  time  be  fit  to  open  a  school  to  teach  even 
devils  the  practice  of  the  seven  deadly  sins,  of  which  none  know  the  theory 
if  those  of  the  gay  science  are  lacking.” 

“Truly,  comrade,  thou  speakest  well,”  answered  Bertram,  “and  I  acknow¬ 
ledge  that  we  minstrels  are  too  much  to  blame  in  this  matter.  Nevertheless, 
•  in  good  sooth,  the  fault  is  not  one  of  which  I  myself  am  particularly  guilty; 
on  the  contrary,  I  think  that  he  who  would  wish  to  have  his  own  hair 
honoured  when  time  has  strewed  it  with  silver,  should  so  rein  his  mirth 
w'hen  in  the  presence  of  the  young,  as  may  show  in  what  respect  he  holds 
innocence.  I  will,  therefore,  with  your  permission,  speak  a  word  to  Augus¬ 
tine,  that  to-morrow  we  must  bo  on  foot  early.” 

“Do  so,  my  friend,”  said  the  English  soldier;  “and  do  the  same  the  more 
speedily  that  our  poor  supper  is  still  awaiting  until  thou  art  ready  to  par¬ 
take  of  it.” 

“  To  which,  I  promise  thee,”  said  Bertram,  “  I  am  disposed  to  entertain 
no  delay.” 

“  Follow  me,  then,”  said  Dickson,  “  and  I  will  show  thee  where  this 
young  bird  of  thine  has  his  nest.” 

Their  host  accordingly  tripped  up  the  wooden  stair,  and  tapped  at  a  door, 
which  he  thus  indicated  was  that  of  his  younger  guest. 

“  Your  father,”  continued  he,  as  the  door  opened,  “  would  speak  with 
you.  Master  Augustine.” 

“Excuse  me,  my  host,”  answered  Augustine,  “the  truth  is,  that  this 
room  being  directly  above  your  eating-chamber,  and  the  flooring  not  in  the 
best  possible  repair,  I  have  been  compelled  to  the  unhandsome  practice  of 
eavesdropping,  and  not  a  word  has  escaped  me  that  passed  concerning  my 
proposed  residence  at  the  abbey,  our  journey  to-morrow,  and  the  somewhat 
early  hour  at  which  I  must  shake  off  sloth,  and,  according  to  thy  expres¬ 
sion,  fly  down  from  the  roost.” 

“  And  how  dost  thou  relish,”  said  Dickson,  “  being  left  with  the  Abbot 
of  Saint  Bride’s  little  flock  here.” 

“Why,  well,”  said  the  youth,  “if  the  abbot  is  a  man  of  respectability 
becoming  his  vocation,  and  not  one  of  those  swaggering  churchmen,  who 

VoL.  XII. w- 18 


274 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


stretch  out  the  sword,  and  bear  themselves  like  rank  soldiers  in  these  trou¬ 
blous  times.” 

“For  that,  young  master,”  said  Dickson,  “if  you  let  him  put  his  hand 
deep  enough  into  your  purse,  he  will  hardly  quarrel  with  any  thing.” 

“  Then  I  will  leave  him  to  my  father,”  replied  Augustine,  “  who  will  not 
grudge  him  any  thing  he  asks  in  reason.” 

“  In  that  case,”  replied  the  Scotchman,  “  you  may  trust  to  our  abbot  for 
good  accommodation — and  so  both  sides  are  pleased.” 

“  It  is  well,  my  son,”  said  Bertram,  who  now  joined  in  the  conversation ; 
“  and  that  thou  mayst  be  ready  for  early  travelling,  I  shall  presently  get 
our  host  to  send  thee  some  food,  after  partaking  of  which  thou  shouldst  go 
to  bed  and  sleep  off  the  fatigue  of  to-day,  since  to-morrow  will  bring  work 
for  itself.” 

“  And  as  for  thy  engagement  to  these  honest  archers,”  answered  Augus¬ 
tine,  “  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  do  what  will  give  pleasure  to  our  guides, 
if  they  are  disposed  to  be  civil  and  true  men.” 

“  God  bless  thee,  my  child  !”  answered  Bertram  ;  “  thou  knowest  already 
what  would  drag  after  thy  beck  all  the  English  archers  that  were  ever  on 
this  side  of  the  Solway.  There  is  no  fear  of  a  grey  goose  shaft,  if  you  sing 
a  reveillez  like  to  that  which  chimed  even  now  from,  that  silken  nest  of  dainty 
young  goldfinches.” 

“Hold  me  as  in  readiness,  then,”  said  the  seeming  youth,  “when  you 
depart  to-morrow  morning.  I  am  within  hearing,  I  suppose,  of  the  bells 
of  Saint  Bride's  chapel,  and  have  no  fear,  through  my  sloth,  of  keeping  you 
or  vour  company  waiting.” 

“  Good  night,  and  God  bless  thee,  my  child !”  again  said  the  minstrel ; 
“  remember  that  your  father  sleeps  not  far  distant,  and  on  the  slightest 
alarm  will  not  fail  to  be  with  you.  I  need  scarce  bid  thee  recommend 
thyself,  meantime,  to  the  great  Being,  who  is  the  friend  and  father  of  us  all.” 

The  pilgrim  thanked  his  supposed  father  for  his  evening  blessing,  and 
the  visitors  withdrew  without  farther  speech  at  the  time,  leaving  the  young 
lady  to  those  engrossing  fears,  which,  the  novelty  of  her  situation,  and  the 
native  delicacy  of  her  sex  being  considered,  naturally  thronged  upon  her. 

The  tramp  of  a  horse's  foot  was  not  long  after  heard  at  the  house  of 
Ilazelside,  and  the  rider  was  welcomed  by  its  garrison  with  marks  of  respect. 
Bertram  understood  so  much  as  to  discover  from  the  conversation  of  the 
warders  that  this  late  arrival  was  Aymer  de  Valence,  the  knight  who  com¬ 
manded  the  little  party,  and  to  the  furniture  of  whose  lance,  as  it  was 
technically  called,  belonged  the  archers  with  whom  we  have  already  been 
acquainted,  a  man-at-arms  or  two,  a  certain  proportion  of  pages  or  grooms, 
and,  in  short,  the  command  and  guidance  of  the  garrison  at  Thomas 
Dickson's,  while  in  rank  he  was  Deputy-governor  of  Douglas  Castle. 

To  prevent  all  suspicion  respecting  himself  and  his  companion,  as  well 
as  the  risk  of  the  latter  being  disturbed,  the  minstrel  thought  it  proper  to 
present  himself  to  the  inspection  of  this  knight,  the  great  authority  of  the 
little  place.  He  found  him  with  as  little  scruple  as  the  archers  heretofore, 
making  a  supper  of  the  relics  of  the  roast  beef. 

Before  this  young  knight  Bertram  underwent  an  examination,  while  an 
old  soldier  took  down  in  writing  such  items  of  information  as  the  examinate 
thought  proper  to  express  in  his  replies,  both  with  regard  to  the  minutiae 
of  his  present  journey,  his  business  at  Castle  Douglas,  and  his  route  when 
that  business  should  be  accomplished ;  a  much  more  minute  examination, 
in  a  word,  than  he  had  hitherto  undergone  by  the  archers,  or  perhaps  than 
was  quite  agreeable  to  him,  being  encumbered  with  at  least  the  knowledge 
of  one  secret,  whatever  more.  Not  that  this  new  examinator  had  any 
thing  stern  or  severe  in  his  looks  or  his  questions.  As  to  the  first,  he  was 
mild,  gentle,  and  “  meek  as  a  maid,”  and  possessed  exactly  of  the  courteous 
manners  ascribed  by  our  father  Chaucer  to  the  pattern  of  chivalry  whom  he 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


275 


describes  upon  his  pilgrimage  to  Canterbury.  But  "with  all  bis  gentleness, 
De  Valence  showed  a  great  degree  of  acuteness  and  accuracy  in  his  queries  ; 
and  well  pleased  was  Bertram  that  the  young  knight  did  not  insist  upon 
seeing  his  supposed  son,  although  even  in  that  case  his  ready  wit  had 
resolved,  like  a  seaman  in  a  tempest,  to  sacrifice  one  part  to  preserve  the 
rest.  lie  was  not,  however,  driven  to  this  extremity,  being  treated  by  Sir 
Aymer  with  that  degree  of  courtesy  which  in  that  age  men  of  song  were 
in  general  thought  entitled  to.  The  knight  kindly  and  liberally  consented 
to  the  lad’s  remaining  in  the  convent,  as  a  fit  and  quiet  residence  for  a 
stripling  and  an  invalid,  until  Sir  John  de  Walton  should  express  his 
pleasure  on  the  subject;  and  Sir  Aymer  consented  to  this  arrangement  the 
more  willingly,  as  it  averted  all  possible  danger  of  bringing  disease  into 
the  English  garrison. 

By  the  young  knight’s  order,  all  in  Dickson’s  house  were  despatched 
earlier  to  rest  than  usual ;  the  matin  bell  of  the  neighbouring  chapel  being 
the  signal  for  their  assembly  by  daybreak.  They  rendezvoused  accordingly, 
and  proceeded  to  Saint  Bride’s,  where  they  heard  mass,  after  which  an 
interview  took  place  between  the  abbot  Jerome  and  the  minstrel,  in  which 
the  former  undertook,  with  the  permission  of  De  Valence,  to  receive  Augus¬ 
tine  into  his  abbey  as  a  guest  for  a  few  days,  less  or  more,  and  for  which 
Bertram  promised  an  acknowledgment  in  name  of  alms,  which  was  amply 
satisfactory. 

“  So  be  it,”  said  Bertram,  taking  leave  of  his  supposed  son  ;  “  rely  on  it 
I  will  not  tarry  a  day  longer  at  Douglas  Castle  than  shall  suffice  for  trans¬ 
acting  my  business  there,  which  is  to  look  after  the  old  books  you  wot  of, 
and  I  will  speedily  return  for  thee  to  the  Abbey  of  Saint  Bride,  to  resume 
in  company  our  journey  homeward.” 

“  0  father,”  replied  the  youth,  with  a  smile,  “  I  fear  if  you  get  among 
romances  and  chronicles,  you  will  be  so  earnest  in  your  researches,  that 
you  will  forget  poor  Augustine  and  his  concerns.” 

“Never  fear  me,  Augustine,”  said  the  old  man,  making  the  motion  of 
throwing  a  kiss  towards  the  boy ;  “  thou  art  good  and  virtuous,  and  Heaven 
will  not  neglect  thee,  were  thy  father  unnatural  enough  to  do  so.  Believe 
me,  all  the  old  songs  since  Merlin’s  day  shall  not  make  me  forget  thee.” 

Thus  they  separated,  the  minstrel,  with  the  English  knight  and  his 
retinue,  to  move  towards  the  castle,  and  the  youth  in  dutiful  attendance  on 
the  venerable  abbot,  who  was  delighted  to  find  that  his  guest’s  thoughts 
turned  rather  upon  spiritual  things  than  on  the  morning  repast,  of  the  ap¬ 
proach  of  which  he  could  not  help  being  himself  sensible. 


Cljnptjr  tjit  €liitL 

This  night,  methinks,  is  but  the  daylight  sick, 

It  looks  a  little  paler;  ’tis  a  day 
Such  as  the  day  is  when  the  sun  is  hid. 

Merchant  of  Venice. 

To  facilitate  the  progress  of  the  party  on  its  way  to  Douglas  Castle,  the 
Knight  of  Valence  olfered  the  minstrel  the  convenience  of  a  horse,  which 
the  fatigues  of  yesterday  made  him  gladly  accept.  Any  one  acquainted 
with  equestrian  exercise,  is  aware  that  no  means  of  refreshment  carries 
away  the  sense  of  fatigue  from  over  walking  so  easily,  as  the  exchange  to 
riding,  which  calls  into  play  another  set  of  muscles,  and  leaves  those  which 
have  been  over  exerted  an  opportunity  of  resting  through  change  of  motion. 


276 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


more  com pletel}’^  than  they  could  in  absolute  repose.  Sir  Aymer  cle  Valence 
■\va.s  sheathed  in  armour,  and  mounted  on  his  charger ;  two  of  the  archers,  a 
groom  of  mean  rank,  and  a  squire,  who  looked  in  his  day  for  the  honour  of 
knighthood,  completed  the  detachment,  which  seemed  so  disposed  as  to 
secure  the  minstrel  from  escape,  and  to  protect  him  against  violence.'  “  Not,’^ 
said  the  young  knight,  addressing  himself  to  Bertram,  “  that  there  is  usually 
danger  in  travelling  in  this  country  any  more  than  in  the  most  quiet  dis¬ 
tricts  of  England ;  but  some  disturbances,  as  you  may  have  learnt,  have 
broken  out  here  within  this  last  year,  and  have  caxised  the  garrison  of  Castle 
Douglas  to  maintain  a  stricter  w^atch.  But  let  us  move  on,  for  the  com¬ 
plexion  of  the  day  is  congenial  with  the  original  derivation  of  the  name  of 
the  country,  and  the  description  of  the  chiefs  to  whom  it  belonged  —  ShoUo 
Dliu  Glass  —  (see  yon  dark  grey  man,)  and  dark  grey  will  our  route  prove 
this  morning,  though  by  good  luck  it  is  not  long.'^ 

The  morning  was  indeed  what  the  original  Gaelic  words  implied,  a  drizzly, 
dark,  moist  day;  the  mist  had  settled  upon  the  hills,  and  unrolled  itself  upon 
brook,  glade,  and  tarn,  and  the  spring  breeze  was  not  powerful  enough  to 
raise  the  veil,  though  from  the  wild  sounds  which  wmre  heard  occasionally 
on  the  ridges,  and  through  the  glens,  it  might  be  supposed  to  wail  at  a  sense 
of  its  own  inability.  The  route  of  the  travellers  was  directed  by  the  course 
which  the  river  had  ploughed  for  itself  down  the  valley,  the  banks  of  which 
bore  in  general  that  dark  grey  livery  which  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence  had  inti¬ 
mated  to  be  the  prevalent  tint  of  the  country.  Some  ineffectual  struggles 
of  the  sun  shot  a  ray  here  and  there  to  salute  the  peaks  of  the  hills ;  yet 
these  were  unable  to  surmount  the  dulness  of  a  March  morning,  and,  at  so 
early  an  hour,  produced  a  variety  of  shades,  rather  than  a  gleam  of  bright¬ 
ness  upon  the  eastern  horizon.  The  view  was  monotonous  and  depressing, 
and  apparently  the  good  knight  Aymer  sought  some  amusement  in  occasional 
talk  with  Bertram,  who,  as  was  usual  with  his  craft,  possessed  a  fund  of 
knowledge,  and  a  power  of  conversation,  well  suited  to  pass  away  a  dull 
morning.  The  minstrel,  well  pleased  to  pick  up  such  information  as  he 
might  be  able  concerning  the  present  state  of  the  country,  embraced  every 
opportunity  of  sustaining  the  dialogue. 

“  I  would  speak  with  you.  Sir  Minstrel, said  the  young  knight.  “  If 
thou  dost  not  tind  the  air  of  this  morning  too  harsh  for  thine  organs,  heartily 
do  I  wish  thou  wouldst  fairly  tell  me  what  can  have  induced  thee,  being,  as 
thou  seemst,  a  man  of  sense,  to  thrust  thyself  into  a  wild  country  like  this, 
at  such  a  time. — And  you,  my  masters,’^  addressing  the  archers  and  the  rest 
of  the  party,  “  methinks  it  would  be  as  fitting  and  seeming  if  you  reined 
back  your  steeds  for  a  horse's  length  or  so,  since  I  apprehend  you  can  travel 
on  your  wmy  without  the  pastime  of  minstrelsy."  The  bowmen  took  the 
hint,  and  fell  back,  but,  as  was  expressed  by  their  grumbling  observations, 
by  no  means  pleased  that  there  seemed  little  chance  of  their  overhearing 
what  conversation  should  pass  between  the  young  knight  and  the  minstrel, 
which  proceeded  as  follows  : — 

“  I  am,  then,  to  understand,  good  minstrel,"  said  the  knight,  “  that  you, 
who  have  in  your  time  borne  arms,  and  even  followed  Saint  George's  red- 
cross  banner  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  are  so  little  tired  of  the  danger  attend¬ 
ing  our  profession,  that  you  feel  yourself  attracted  unnecessarily  to  regions 
where  the  sw^ord,  for  ever  loose  in  its  scabbard,  is  ready  to  start  on  the 
slightest  provocation  ?" 

“  It  would  be  hard,"  replied  the  minstrel  bluntly,  “  to  answer  such  a 
question  in  the  affirmative ;  and  yet,  when  you  consider  how  nearly  allied  is 
his  profession  who  celebrates  deeds  of  arms  with  that  of  the  knight  who 
performs  them,  your  honour,  I  think,  will  hold  it  advisable  that  a  minstrel 
desirous  of  doing  his  devoir,  should,  like  a  young  knight,  seek  the  truth  of 
adventures  where  it  is  to  be  found,  and  rather  visit  countries  where  the 
knowledge  is  preserved  of  high  and  noble  deeds,  than  those  lazy  and  quiet 


CASTLE  DANOEROUS. 


277 


realms,  in  which  men  live  indolently,  and  die  ignobly  in  peace,  or  by  sen¬ 
tence  of  law.  You  yourself,  sir,  and  those  like  you,  who  hold  life  cheap  in 
respect  of  glory,  guide  your  course  through  this  world  on  the  very  same 
principle  which  brings  your  poor  rhyming  servant  Bertram  from  a  hir 
province  of  merry  England,  to  this  dark  country  of  rugged  Scotland  called 
Douglas  Dale.  You  long  to  see  adventures  worthy  of  notice,  and  I  (under 
favour  for  naming  us  two  in  the  same  breath)  seek  a  scanty  and  precarious, 
but  not  a  dishonourable  living,  by  preparing  for  immortality,  as  well  as  I 
can,  the  particulars  of  such  exploits,  especially  the  names  of  those  who  were 
the  heroes  of  these  actions.  Each,  therefore,  labours  in  his  vocation ;  nor 
can  the  one  be  justly  wondered  at  more  than  the  other,  seeing  that  if  there 
be  any  difference  in  the  degrees  of  danger  to  which  both  the  hero  and  the 
poet  are  exposed,  the  courage,  strength,  arms,  and  address  of  the  valiant 
knight,  render  it  safer  for  him  to  venture  into  scenes  of  peril,  than  for  the 
poor  man  of  rhyme.'^ 

“You  say  well,’^  answered  the  warrior ;  “and  although  it  is  something 
of  novelty  to  me  to  hear  your  craft  represented  as  upon  a  level  with  my 
own  mode  of  life,  yet  shame  were  it  to  say  that  the  minstrel  who  toils  so 
much  to  keep  in  memory  the  feats  of  gallant  knights  should  not  himself 
prefer  fame  to  existence,  and  a  single  achievement  of  valour  to  a  whole 
age  without  a  name,  or  to  affirm  that  he  follows  a  mean  and  unworthy  pro¬ 
fession.'^ 

“  Your  worship  will  then  acknowledge,"  said  the  minstrel,  “  that  it  is  a 
legitimate  object  in  such  as  myself,  who,  simple  as  I  am,  have  taken  my 
regular  degrees  among  the  professors  of  the  gay  science  at  the  capital  town 
of  Aigues-Mortcs,  to  struggle  forward  into  this  northern  district,  where  I 
am  well  assured  many  things  have  happened  which  have  been  adapted  to 
the  harp  by  minstrels  of  great  fame  in  ancient  days,  and  have  become  the 
subject  of  lays  which  lie  deposited  in  the  library  of  Castle  Douglas,  where, 
unless  copied  over  by  some  one  who  understands  the  old  British  characters 
and  language,  they  must,  with  whatever  they  may  contain,  whether  of  en¬ 
tertainment  or  edification,  be  speedily  lost  to  posterity.  If  these  hidden 
treasures  were  preserved  and  recorded  by  the  minstrel  art  of  my  poor  self 
and  others,  it  might  be  held  well  to  compensate  for  the  risk  of  a  chance  blow 
of  a  broadsword,  or  the  sweep  of  a  brown  bill,  while  I  am  engaged  in  col¬ 
lecting  them ;  and  I  were  unworthy  of  the  name  of  a  man,  much  more  of 
an  inventor  or  finder,*  should  I  weigh  the  loss  of  life,  a  commodity  always 
so  uncertain,  against  the  chance  of  that  immortality  which  will  survive  in 
my  lay  after  my  broken  voice  and  shivered  harp  shall  no  longer  be  able 
either  to  express  tune  or  accompany  tale." 

“  Certainly,"  said  Sir  Aymer,  “  having  a  heart  to  feel  such  a  motive,  you 
have  an  undoubted  right  to  express  it ;  nor  should  I  have  been  in  any  degree 
disposed  to  question  it  had  I  found  many  minstrels  prepared,  like  yourself, 
to  prefer  renown  even  to  life  itself,  which  most  men  think  of  greatly  more 
consequence." 

“There  are,  indeed,  noble  sir,"  replied  Bertram,  “minstrels,  and,  with 
your  reverence,  even  belted  knights  themselves,  who  do  not  sufficiently  value 
that  renown  which  is  acquired  at  the  risk  of  life.  To  such  ignoble  men  we 
must  leave  their  own  reward — let  us  abandon  to  them  earth,  and  the  things 
of  earth,  since  they  cannot  aspire  to  that  glory  which  is  the  hest  reward  of 
others." 

The  minstrel  uttered  these  last  words  with  such  enthusiasm,  that  the  knight 
drew  his  bridle,  and  stood  fronting  Bertram,  with  his  countenance  kindling 
at  the  same  theme,  on  which,  after  a  short  silence,  he  expressed  himself 
with  a  like  vivacity. 

*  The  iiume  of  Myicer  stands  for  Poet  (with  the  uri^inui  sense  of  which  word  it  exactly  corresponds)  in  the 
old  Scottish  lanf:n:ia:e.  That  of  Trouvnir  or  'I'roubadonr  —  Finder,  in  short — has  a  similar  meaning,  and 
almost  in  every  country  llie  poetical  tribes  have  been  graced  with  the  same  epitliets,  inferring  the  property 
of  tliose  wliu  employ  invention  or  creation. 


V 


278 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


“Well  fare  thy  heart,  gay  companion !  I  am  happy  to  see  there  is  still 
so  much  enthusiasm  surviving  in  the  world.  Thou  hast  fairly  won  the 
minstrel  groat ;  and  if  I  do  not  pay  it  in  conformity  to  my  sense  of  thy 
merit,  it  shall  be  the  fault  of  dame  Fortune,  who  has  graced  my  labours  in 
these  Scottish  wars  with  the  niggard  pay  of  Scottish  money.  A  gold  piece 
or  two  there  must  be  remaining  of  the  ransom  of  one  French  knight,  whom 
chance  threw  into  my  hands,  and  that,  my  friend,  shall  surely  be  thine 
OMm  ;  and  hark  thee,  I,  Aymer  de  Valence,  who  now  speak  to  thee,  am  born 
of  the  noble  House  of  Pembroke ;  and  though  now  landless,  shall,  by  the 
grace  of  Our  Lady,  have  in  time  a  fitting  establishment,  wherein  I  will  find 
room  for  a  minstrel  like  thee,  if  thy  talents  have  not  by  that  time  found 
thee  a  better  patron.’’ 

“  Thank  thee,  noble  knight,”  said  the  minstrel,  “  as  well  for  thy  present 
intentions,  as  I  hope  I  shall  for  thy  future  performance ;  but  I  may  say, 
with  truth,  that  I  have  not  the  sordid  inclination  of  many  of  my  brethren.” 

“  He  who  partakes  the  true  thirst  of  noble  fame,”  said  the  young  knight, 
“  can  have  little  room  in  his  heart  for  the  love  of  gold.  But  thou  hast  not 
yet  told  me,  friend  minstrel,  what  are  the  motives,  in  particular,  which  have 
attracted  thy  wandering  steps  to  this  wild  country  ?” 

“  Were  I  to  do  so,”  replied  Bertram,  rather  desirous  to  avoid  the  question, 
as  in  some  respects  too  nearly  bordering  on  the  secret  purpose  of  his  jour¬ 
ney,  “  it  might  sound  like  a  studied  panegyric  on  thine  own  bold  deeds.  Sir 
Knight,  and  those  of  your  companions  in  arms ;  and  such  adulation,  min¬ 
strel  as  I  am,  I  hate  like  an  empty  cup  at  a  companion’s  lips.  But  let  me 
say  in  few  words,  that  Douglas  Castle,  and  the  deeds  of  valour  which  it  has 
witnessed,  have  sounded  wide  through  England;  nor  is  there  a  gallant 
knight  or  trusty  minstrel,  whose  heart  does  not  throb  at  the  name  of  the 
stronghold,  which,  in  former  days,  the  foot  of  an  Englishman  never  entered, 
except  in  hospitality.  There  is  a  magic  in  the  very  names  of  Sir  John  de 
Walton  and  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence,  the  gallant  defenders  of  a  place  so  often 
won  back  by  its  ancient  lords,  and  with  such  circumstances  of  valour  and 
cruelty,  that  it  bears,  in  England,  the  name  of  the  Dangerous  Castle.” 

“  Yet  I  would  fain  hear,”  answered  the  knight,  “  your  own  minstrel  ac¬ 
count  of  those  legends  which  have  induced  you,  for  the  amusement  of  future 
times,  to  visit  a  country  which,  at  this  period,  is  so  distracted  and  perilous.” 

“If  you  can  endure  the  length  of  a  minstrel  tale,”  said  Bertram — “  I  for 
one  am  always  amused  by  the  exercise  of  my  vocation,  and  have  no  objec¬ 
tion  to  tell  my  story,  provided  you  do  not  prove  an  impatient  listener.” 

“  Nay,  for  that  matter,”  said  the  young  knight,  “  a  fair  listener  thou  shalt 
have  of  me ;  and  if  my  reward  be  not  great,  my  attention  at  least  shall  be 
remarkable.” 

“  And  he,”  said  the  minstrel,  “  must  be  a  poor  gleeman  who  does  not  hold 
himself  better  paid  with  that,  than  with  gold  or  silver,  vrere  the  pieces 
English  rose-nobles.  On  this  condition,  then,  I  begin  a  long  story,  which 
may,  in  one  or  other  of  its  details,  find  subject  for  better  minstrels  than 
myself,  and  be  listened  to  by  such  warriors  as  you  hundreds  of  years 
hence.” 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


279 


C’ljnptrr  tljr  /nurtji. 

While  many  a  merry  lay  and  many  a  soni? 

Cheer’d  the  ron^h  road,  we  wish’d  the  rough  road  long; 

♦  The  rough  road  then  returning  in  a  round, 

Mark’d  their  impatient  steps,  for  all  was  fairy  ground. 

Dr.  Johnson. 

“  It  was  about  the  year  of  redemption  one  thousand  two  hundred  and 
eighty-five  years/'  began  the  minstrel,  “  when  King  Alexander  the  Third 
of  Scotland  lost  his  daughter  Margaret,  whose  only  child  of  the  same  name, 
called  the  Maiden  of  Norway,  (as  her  father  was  king  of  that  country,) 
became  the  heiress  of  this  kingdom  of  Scotland,  as  well  as  of  her  father’s 
crown.  An  unhappy  death  was  this  for  Alexander,  who  had  no  nearer 
heirs  left  of  his  own  body  than  this  grandchild.  She  indeed  might  claim’ 
his  kingdom  by  birthright ;  but  the  difficulty  of  establishing  such  a  claim 
of  inheritance  must  have  been  anticipated  by  all  who  bestowed  a  thought 
upon  the  subject.  The  Scottish  king,  therefore,  endeavoured  to  make  up 
for  his  loss  by  replacing  his  late  Queen,  who  was  an  English  princess,  sister 
of  our  Edward  the  First,  with  Juletta,  daughter  of  the  Count  de  Dreux. 
The  solemnities  at  the  nuptial  ceremony,  which  took  place  in  the  towm  of 
Jedburgh,  were  very  great  and  remarkable,  and  particularly  when,  amidst 
the  display  of  a  pageant  w’hich  was  exhibited  on  the  occasion,  a  ghastly 
spectre  made  its  appearance  in  the  form  of  a  skeleton,  as  the  King  of  Ter¬ 
rors  is  said  to  be  represented. — Your  w’orship  is  free  to  laugh  at  this,  if  you 
think  it  a  proper  subject  for  mirth ;  but  men  are  alive  who  viewed  it  with 
their  own  eyes,  and  the  event  gjiowed  too  well  of  what  misfortunes  this 
apparition  was  the  singular  prognostication.” 

“  I  have  heard  the  story,”  said  the  knight ;  “  but  the  monk  who  told  it 
me,  suggested  that  the  figure,  though  unhappily  chosen,  was  perhaps  pur¬ 
posely  introduced  as  a  part  of  the  pageant.” 

“  I  know  not  that,”  said  the  minstrel,  dryly  ;  “  but  there  is  no  doubt  that 
shortly  after  this  apparition  King  iVlexander  died,  to  the  great  sorrow  of  his 
people.  The  Maid  of  Norway,  his  heiress,  speedily  followed  her  grandfather 
to  the  grave,  and  our  English  king,  Sir  Knight,  raked  up  a  claim  of  depen¬ 
dency  and  homage  due,  he  said,  by  Scotland,  which  neither  the  lawyers, 
nobles,  priests,  nor  the  very  minstrels  of  Scotland,  had  ever  before  heard  of.’' 

“  Now,  beshrew  me,”  interrupted  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence,  “  this  is  beyond 
bargain.  I  agreed  to  hear  your  tale  w’ith  patience,  but  I  did  not  pledge 
myself  that  it  should  contain  matter  to  the  reproach  of  Edward  the  First, 
of  blessed  memory ;  nor  will  I  permit  his  name  to  be  mentioned  in  my 
hearing  without  the  respect  due  his  high  rank  and  noble  qualities.” 

“  Nay,”  said  the  minstrel,  “  I  am  no  highland  bagpiper  or  genealogist,  to 
carry  respect  for  my  art  so  far  as  to  quarrel  with  a  man  of  worship  wffio 
stops  me  at  the  beginning  of  a  pibroch.  I  am  an  Englishman,  and  wish 
dearly  well  to  my  country ;  and,  above  all,  I  must  speak  the  truth.  But  I 
will  avoid  disputable  topics.  Your  age,  sir,  though  none  of  the  ripest, 
authorizes  me  to  suppose  you  may  have  seen  the  battle  of  Falkirk,  and 
other  onslaughts  in  which  the  competition  of  Bruce  and  Baliol  has  been 
fiercely  agitated,  and  you  will  permit  me  to  say,  that  if  the  Scottish  have 
not  had  the  right  upon  their  side,  they  have  at  least  defended  the  wrong 
with  the  efforts  of  brave  men  and  true.” 

“  Of  brave  men  I  grant  you,”  said  the  knight,  “  for  I  have  seen  no  cowards 
amongst  them  ;  but  as  for  truth,  they  can  best  judge  of  it  who  know  how 
often  they  have  sworn  faith  to  England,  and  how  repeatedly  they  have 
oroken  their  vow.” 


280 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


“I  shall  not  stir  the  question/^  said  the  minstrel,  “leaving  it  to  your 
worship  to  determine  which  has  most  falsehood — he  who  compels  a  weaker 
person  to  take  an  unjust  oath,  or  he  who,  compelled  by  necessity,  takes  the 
imposed  oath  without  the  intention  of  keeping  his  word.” 

“  Nay,  nay,”  said  De  Valence,  “  let  us  keep  our  opinions,  for ‘we  are  not 
likely  to  force  each  other  from  the  faith  we  have  adopted  on  this  subject. 
But  take  my  advice,  and  whilst  thou  travellest  under  an  English  pennon, 
take  heed  that  thou  keepest  off  this  conversation  in  the  hall  and  kitchen, 
where  perhaps  the  soldier  may  be  less  tolerant  than  the  officer ;  and  now, 
in  a  word,  what  is  thy  legend  of  this  Dangerous  Castle  ?” 

“  For  that,”  replied  Bertram,  “  methinks  your  worship  is  most  likely  to 
have  a  better  edition  than  I,  who  have  not  been  in  this  country  for  many 
years  ;  but  it  is  not  for  me  to  bandy  opinions  with  your  knightship.  I  will 
even  proceed  with  the  tale  as  I  have  heard  it.  I  need  not,  I  presume, 
inform  your  worship  that  the  Lords  of  Douglas,  who  founded  this  castle, 
are  second  to  no  lineage  in  Scotland  in  the  antiquity  of  their  descent.  Nay, 
they  have  themselves  boasted  that  their  family  is  not  to  be  seen  or  distin¬ 
guished,  like  other  great  houses,  until  it  is  found  at  once  in  a  certain  degree 
of  eminence.  ‘  You  may  see  us  in  the  tree,^  they  say,  ‘  you  cannot  discover 
us  in  the  twig;  you  may  see  us  in  the  stream,  you  cannot  trace  us  to  the 
fountain.^  In  a  word,  they  deny  that  historians  or  genealogists  can  point 
out  the  first  mean  man  named  Douglas,  who  originally  elevated  the  family ; 
and  true  it  is,  that  so  far  back  as  we  have  known  this  race,  they  have 
always  been  renowned  for  valour  and  enterprise,  accompanied  with  the 
power  which  made  that  enterprise  effectual.” 

“  Enough,”  said  the  knight,  “  I  have  heard  of  the  pride  and  power  of  that 
great  family,  nor  does  it  interest  me  in  the  least  to  deny  or  detract  from 
their  bold  claims  to  consideration  in  this  respect.” 

“  Without  doubt  you  must  also  have  heard,  noble  sir,”  replied  the  min¬ 
strel,  “  many  things  of  James,  the  present  heir  of  the  house  of  Douglas?” 

“  More  than  enough,”  answered  the  English  knight ;  “  he  is  known  to 
have  been  a  stout  supporter  of  that  outlawed  traitor,  William  Wallace  ;  and 
again,  upon  the  first  raising  of  the  banner  by  this  Kobert  Bruce,  who  pre¬ 
tends  to  be  King  of  Scotland,  this  young  springald,  James  Douglas,  must 
needs  start  into  rebellion  anew.  He  plunders  his  uncle,  the  Archbishop  of 
St.  Andrews,  of  a  considerable  sum  of  money,  to  fill  the  Scottish  Usurper’s 
not  over-burdened  treasury,  debauches  the  servants  of  his  relation,  takes 
arms,  and  though  repeatedly  chastised  in  the  field,  still  keeps  his  vaunt,  and 
threatens  mischief  to  those,  who,  in  the  name  of  his  rightful  sovereign, 
defend  the  Castle  of  Douglasdale.” 

“  It  is  your  pleasure  to  say  so.  Sir  Knight,”  replied  Bertram ;  “yet  I  am 
sure,  were  you  a  Scot,  you  would  with  patience  hear  me  tell  over  what  has 
been  said  of  this  young  man  by  those  who  have  known  him,  and  whose 
account  of  his  adventures  shows  how  differently  the  same  tale  may  be  told. 
These  men  talk  of  the  present  heir  of  this  ancient  family  as  fully  adequate 
to  maintain  and  augment  its  reputation  ;  ready,  indeed,  to  undergo  every 

Eeril  in  the  cause  of  Robert  the  Bruce,  because  the  Bruce  is  esteemed  by 
im  his  lawful  king ;  and  sworn  and  devoted,  with  such  small  strength  as 
he  can  muster,  to  revenge  himself  on  those  Southrons  who  have,  for  several 
years,  as  he  thinks,  unjustly,  possessed  themselves  of  his  father’s  abode.” 

“  0,”  replied  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence,  “we  have  heard  much  of  his  achieve¬ 
ments  in  this  respect,  and  of  his  threats  against  our  governor  and  ourselves ; 
yet  we  think  it  scarce  likely  that  Sir  John  de  Walton  will  move  from  Doug¬ 
lasdale  without  the  King’s  order,  although  this  James  Douglas,  a  mere 
chicken,  take  upon  himself  to  crack  his  voice  by  crowing  like  a  cock  of  the 
'game.” 

“  Sir,”  answered  Bertram,  “  our  acquaintance  is  but  brief,  and  yet  I  feel 
it  has  been  so  beneficial  to  me,  that  I  trust  there  is  no  harm  in  hoping  that 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS.  281 

James  Douglas  and  you  may  never  meet  in  bodily  presence  till  the  state  of 
the  two  countries  shall  admit  of  peace  being  between  you/’ 

“Thou  art  obliging,  friend,”  answered  Sir  Aymer,  “and,  I  doubt  not, 
sincere ;  and  truly  thou  seeinest  to  have  a  wholesome  sense  of  the  respect 
due  to  this  young  knight,  when  men  talk  of  him  in  his  native  valley  of 
Douglas.  For  me,  I  am  only  poor  Aymer  of  Valence,  without  an  acre  of 
land,  or  much  hope  of  acquiring  any,  unless  I  cut  something  huge  with 
my  broadsword  out  of  the  middle  of  these  hills.  Only  this,  good  minstrel, 
if  thou  livest  to  tell  my  story,  may  I  pray  thee  to  use  thy  scrupulous  custom 
of  searching  out  the  verity,  and  whether  I  live  or  die  thou  shalt  not,  I  think, 
discover  that  thy  late  acquaintance  of  a  spring  morning  hath  added  more  to 
the  laurels  of  James  of  Douglas,  than  any  man’s  death  must  give  to  him 
by  whose  stronger  arm,  or  more  lucky  chance,  it  is  his  lot  to  fall.”  ‘ 

“  I  nothing  fear  you.  Sir  Knight,”  said  the  minstrel,  “  for  yours  is  that 
happy  brain,  which,  bold  in  youth  as  beseems  a  young  knight,  is  in  more 
advanced  life  the  happy  source  of  prudent  counsel,  of  which  I  would  not, 
by  an  early  death,  wish  thy  country  to  be  deprived.” 

“  Thou  art  so  candid,  then,  as  to  wish  Old  England  the  benefit  of  good 
advice,”  said  Sir  Aymer,  “  though  thou  leanest  to  the  side  of  Scotland  in 
the  controversy  ?” 

“Assuredly,  Sir  Knight,”  said  the  minstrel,  “since  in  wishing  that  Scot¬ 
land  and  England  each  knew  their  own  true  interest,  I  am  bound  to  wish 
them  both  alike  well ;  and  they  should,  I  think,  desire  to  live  in  friendship 
together.  Occupying  each  their  own  portion  of  the  same  island,  and  living 
under  the  same  laws,  and  being  at  peace  with  each  other,  they  might  with¬ 
out  fear,  face  the  enmity  of  the  whole  world.” 

“  If  thy  faith  be  so  liberal,”  answered  the  Knight,  “  as  becomes  a  good 
man,  thou  must  certainly  pray,  Sir  Minstrel,  for  the  success  of  England  in 
the  war,  by  which  alone  these  murderous  hostilities  of  the  northern  nation 
can  end  in  a  solid  peace.  The  rebellions  of  this  obstinate  country  are  but 
the  struggles  of  the  stag  when  he  is  mortally  wounded  ;  the  animal  grows 
weaker  and  weaker  with  every  struggle,  till  his  resistance  is  effectually 
tamed  by  the  hand  of  death.” 

“  Not  so.  Sir  Knight,”  said  the  minstrel ;  “  if  my  creed  is  well  taught 
me,  we  ought  not  so  to  pray.  We  may,  without  offence,  intimate  in  our 
prayers  the  end  we  wish  to  obtain  ;  but  it  is  not  for  us,  poor  mortals,  to 
point  out  to  an  all-seeing  Providence  the  precise  manner  in  which  our  peti¬ 
tions  are  to  be  accomplished,  or  to  wish  the  downfall  of  a  country  to  end 
its  commotions,  as  the  death-stab  terminates  the  agonies  of  the  wounded 
stag.  Whether  I  appeal  to  my  heart  or  to  my  understanding,  the  dictate 
would  be  to  petition  Heaven  for  what  is  just  and  equal  in  the  case ;  and  if 
I  should  fear  for  thee.  Sir  Knight,  in  an  encounter  with  James  of  Douglas, 
it  is  only  because  he  upholds,  as  I  conceive,  the  better  side  of  the  debate ; 
and  powers  more  earthly  have  presaged  to  him  success.” 

“Do  you  tell  me  so.  Sir  Minstrel,”  said  De  Valence  in  a  threatening  tone, 
“  knowing  me  and  my  office  ?” 

“Your  personal  dignity  and  ^authority,”  said  Bertram,  “cannot  change 
the  right  into  wrong,  or  avert  what  Providence  has  decreed  to  take  place. 
Y"ou  know,  I  must  presume,  that  the  Douglas  hath,  by  various  devices, 
already  contrived  to  make  himself  master  of  this  Castle  of  Douglas  three 
several  times,  and  that  Sir  John  de  Walton,  the  present  governor,  holds  it 
with  a  garrison  trebled  in  force,  and  under  the  assurance  that  if,  without 
surprise,  he  should  keep  it  from  the  Scottish  power  for  a  year  and  a  day, 
he  shall  obtain  the  barony  of  Douglas,  with  its  extensive  appendages,  in 
free  property  for  his  reward ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  shall  suffer 
the  fortress  during  this  space  to  be  taken,  either  by  guile  or  by  open  force, 
as  has  happened  successively  to  the  holders  of  the  Dangerous  Castle,  ho  will 
become  liable  to  dishonour  as  a  knight,  and  to  attainder  as  a  subject;  and 


282 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


the  chiefs  who  take  share  with  him,  and  serve  under  him,  will  participate 
also  in  his  guilt  and  his  punishment?’^ 

“All  this  I  know  well,”  said  Sir  Aymer;  “and  I  only  wonder  that,  hav¬ 
ing  become  public,  the  conditions  have,  nevertheless,  been  told  with  so  much 
accuracy  ;  but  what  has  this  to  do  with  the  issue  of  the  combat,  if*  the  Doug¬ 
las  and  I  should  chance  to  meet  ?  I  will  not  surely  be  disposed  to  fight 
with  less  animation  because  I  wear  my  fortune  upon  my  sword,  or  become 
coward  because  I  fight  for  a  portion  of  the  Douglas’s  estate,  as  well  as  for 
fame  and  for  fatherland?  And  after  all” - 

“Hear  me,”  said  the  minstrel;  “an  ancient  gleeman  has  said,  that  in  a 
false  quarrel  there  is  no  true  valour,  and  the  los  or  praise  won  therein,  is, 
when  balanced  against  honest  fame,  as  valueless  as  a  wreath  formed  out  of 
copper,  compared  to  a  chaplet  of  pure  gold ;  but  I  bid  you  not  take  me  for 
thy  warrant  in  this  important  question.  Thou  well  knowest  how  James  of 
Thirlwall,  the  last  English  commander  before  Sir  John  de  Walton,  was 
surprised,  and  the  castle  sacked  with  circumstances  of  great  inhumanity.” 

“  Truly,”  said  Sir  Aymer,  “I  think  that  Scotland  and  England  both  have 
heard  of  that  onslaught,  and  of  the  disgusting  proceedings  of  the  Scottish 
chieftain,  when  he  caused  transport  into  the  wild  forest  gold,  silver,  ammu¬ 
nition,  and  armour,  and  all  things  that  could  be  easily  removed,  and  de¬ 
stroyed  a  large  quantity  of  provisions  in  a  manner  equally  savage  and 
unheard-of.” 

“  Perhaps,  Sir  Knight,”  said  Bertram,  “you  were  yourself  an  eyewitness 
of  that  transaction,  which  has  been  spoken  of  far  and  wide,  and  is  called 
the  Douglas  Larder  ?” 

“I  saw  not  the  actual  accomplishment  of  the  deed,”  said  De  Valence; 
“  that  is,  I  witnessed  it  not  a-doing,  but  I  beheld  enough  of  the  sad  relics 
to  make  the  Douglas  Larder  never  by  me  to  be  forgotten  as  a  record  of 
horror  and  abomination.  I  would  speak  it  truly,  by  the  hand  of  my  father 
and  by  my  honour  as  a  knight!  and  I  will  leave  it  to  thee  to  judge  whether 
it  was  a  deed  calculated  to  secure  the  smiles  of  Heaven  in  favour  of  the 
actors.  This  is  my  edition  of  the  story : — 

“  A  large  quantity  of  provisions  had  during  two  years  or  thereabouts 
been  collected  from  different  points,  and  the  Castle  of  Douglas,  newly  re¬ 
paired,  and,  as  was  thought,  carefully  guarded,  was  appointed  as  the  place 
where  the  said  provisions  were  to  be  put  in  store  for  the  service  of  the  King 
of  England,  or  of  the  Lord  Clifibrd,  whichever  should  first  enter  the  Western 
Marches  with  an  English  army,  and  stand  in  need  of  such  a  supply.  This 
army  was  also  to  relieve  our  wants,  I  mean  those  of  my  uncle  the  Earl  of 
Pembroke,  who  for  some  time  before  had  lain  with  a  considerable  force  in 
the  town  called  Ayr,  near  the  old  Caledonian  Forest,  and  where  we  had  hot 
wars  with  the  insurgent  Scots.  Well,  sir,  it  happened,  as  in  similar  cases, 
that  Tirlwall,  though  a  bold  and  active  soldier,  was  surprised  in  the  Castle 
of  Douglas,  about  Hallowmass,  by  this  same  worthy,  young  James  Douglas. 
In  no  very  good  humour  was  he,  as  you  may  suppose  ;  for  his  father,  called 
William  the  Hardy,  or  William  Longlegs,  having  refused,  on  any  terms,  to 
become  Anglicized,  was  made  a  lawful  prisoner,  and  died  as  such,  closely 
confined  in  Berwick,  or,  as  some  say,  in  Newcastle.  The  news  of  his 
father’s  death  had  put  young  Douglas  into  no  small  rage,  and  tended,  I 
think,  to  suggest  what  he  did  in  his  resentment.  Embarrassed  by  the 
quantity  of  provisions  which  he  found  in  the  castle,  which,  the  English 
being  superior  in  the  country,  he  had  neither  the  means  to  remove,  nor  the 
leisure  to  stay  and  consume,  the  fiend,  as  I  think,  inspired  him  with  a  con¬ 
trivance  to  render  them  unfit  for  human  use.  You  shall  judge  yourself 
whether  it  was  likely  to  be  suggested  by  a  good  or  an  evil  spirit. 

“  According  to  this  device,  the  gold,  silver,  and  other  transportable  com¬ 
modities  being  carried  to  secret  places  of  safety,  Douglas  caused  the  meat, 
the  malt,  and  other  corn  or  grain,  to  be  brought  down  into  the  castle  cellar, 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


283 


where  he  emptied  the  contents  of  the  sacks  into  one  loathsome  heap,  striking 
out  the  heads  of  the  barrels  and  puncheons,  so  as  to  let  the  mingled  drink 
run  through  the  heap  of  meal,  grain,  and  so  forth.  The  bullocks  provided 
for  slaughter  were  in  like  manner  knocked  on  the  head,  and  their  blood 
suffered  to  drain  into  the  mass  of  edible  substances ;  and  lastly,  the  llesli 
of  these  oxen  was  buried  in  the  same  mass,  in  which  was  also  included  the 
dead  bodies  of  those  in  the  castle,  who,  receiving  no  quarter  from  the 
Douglas,  paid  dear  enough  for  having  kept  no  better  watch.  This  base  and 
unworthy  abuse  of  provisions  intended  for  the  use  of  man,  together  with 
throwing  into  the  well  of  the  castle  carcasses  of  men  and  horses,  and  other 
'  tilth  for  polluting  the  same,  has  since  that  time  been  called  the  Douglas 
Larder.'' 

“  I  pretend  not,  good  Sir  Aymer,"  said  the  minstrel,  “  to  vindicate  what 
you  justly  reprove,  nor  can  I  conceive  any  mode  of  rendering  provisions 
arranged  after  the  form  of  the  Douglas  Larder,  proper  for  the  use  of  any 
Christian ;  yet  this  young  gentleman  might  perhaps  act  under  the  sting  of 
natural  resentment,  rendering  his  singular  exploit  more  excusable  than  it 
may  seem  at  first.  Think,  if  your  own  noble  father  had  just  died  in  a  lin¬ 
gering  captivity,  his  inheritance  seized  upon,  and  occupied  as  a  garrison  by 
a  foreign  enemy,  would  not  these  things  stir  you  to  a  mode  of  resentment, 
which  in  cold  blood,  and  judging  of  it  as  the  action  of  an  enemy,  your 
honour  might  hold  in  natural  and  laudable  abhorrence?  —  Would  you  pay 
respect  to  dead  and  senseless  objects,  which  no  one  could  blame  your  appro¬ 
priating  to  your  own  use,  or  even  scruple  the  refusal  of  quarter  to  prisoners, 
W'hich  is  so  often  practised  even  in  wars  which  are  otherwise  termed  fair 
and  humane?" 

“You  press  me  close,  minstrel,"  said  Aymer  de  Valence.  “I  at  least 
have  no  great  interest  to  excuse  the  Douglas  in  this  matter,  since  its  conse¬ 
quences  were,  that  I  myself,  and  the  rest  of  my  uncle’s  host,  laboured  with 
Olilford  and  his  army  to  rebuild  this  same  Dangerous  Castle ;  and  feeliug 
no  stomach  for  the  cheer  that  the  Douglas  had  left  us,  we  suffered  hard 
commons,  though  I  acknowledge  we  did  not  hesitate  to  adopt  for  our  own 
use  such  sheep  and  oxen  as  the  miserable  Scots  had  still  left  around  their 
farm-houses ;  and  I  jest  not.  Sir  Minstrel,  when  I  acknowledge  in  sad 
earnest,  that  we  martial  men  ought  to  make  our  petitions  with  peculiar 
penitence  to  Heaven  for  mercy,  when  we  reflect  on  the  various  miseries 
which  the  nature  of  our  profession  compels  us  to  inflict  on  each  other." 

“  It  seems  to  me,"  answered  the  minstrel,  “  that  those  who  feel  the  stings 
of  their  own  conscience  should  be  more  lenient  when  they  speak  of  the 
offences  of  others ;  nor  do  I  greatly  rely  on  a  sort  of  prophecy  which  was 
delivered,  as  the  men  of  this  hill  district  say,  to  the  young  Douglas,  by  a 
man  who  iu  the  course  of  nature  should  have  been  long  since  dead,  pro¬ 
mising  him  a  course  of  success  against  the  English  for  having  sacrificed 
his  own  castle  to  prevent  their  making  it  a  garrison." 

“AVe  have  time  enough  for  the  story,"  said  Sir  Aymer,  “and  methinks 
it  would  suit  a  knight  and  a  minstrel  better  than  the  grave  converse  we 
have  hitherto  held,  which  would  have  beseemed  —  so  God  save  me  —  the 
mouths  of  two  travelling  friars." 

“  So  be  it,"  said  the  minstrel ;  “  the  rote  or  the  viol  easily  changes  its 
time  and  varies  its  note.” 


284 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


(CliEptBr  t|iB 

A  tale  of  sorrow,  for  your  eyes  may  weep ; 

A  tale  of  horror,  for  your  flesh  may  tingle ; 

A  tale  of  wonder,  for  the  eyebrows  arch, 

And  the  flesh  curdles  if  you  read  it  rightly 

Old  Plat. 

“Your  honour  must  be  informed,  gentle  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence,  that  I 
have  heard  this  story  told  at  a  great  distance  from  the  land  in  which  it 
happened,  by  a  sworn  minstrel,  the  ancient  friend  and  servant  of  the  house 
of  Douglas,  one  of  the  best,  it  is  said,  who  ever  belonged  to  that  noble 
famil3\  This  minstrel,  Hugo  Ilugonet  by  name,  attended  his  young  master 
when  on  this  fierce  exploit,  as  was  his  wont. 

“  The  castle  was  in  total  tumult ;  in  one  corner  the  war-men  were  busy 
breaking  up  and  destroying  provisions ;  in  another,  they  were  slaying  men, 
horses,  and  cattle,  and  these  actions  were  accompanied  with  appropriate 
sounds.  The  cattle,  particularly,  had  become  sensible  of  their  impending 
fate,  and  with  awkward  resistance  and  piteous  cries,  testified  that  reluctance 
with  which  these  poor  creatures  look  instinctively  on  the  shambles.  The 
groans  and  screams  of  men,  undergoing,  or  about  to  undergo,  the  stroke  of 
death,  and  the  screeches  of  the  poor  horses  which  were  in  mortal  agony, 
formed  a  fearful  chorus.  Ilugonet  was  desirous  to  remove  himself  from 
such  unpleasant  sights  and  sounds  ;  but  his  master,  the  Douglas,  had  been 
a  man  of  some  reading,  and  his  old  servant  was  anxious  to  secure  a  book 
of  poetry,  to  which  he  had  been  attached  of  old.  This  contained  the  Lays 
of  an  ancient  Scottish  Bard,  who,  if  an  ordinary  human  creature  while  he 
was  in  this  life,  cannot  now  perhaps  be  exactly  termed  such. 

“He  was,  in  short,  that  Thomas,  distinguished  by  the  name  of  the 
Rhymer,  and  whose  intimacy,  it  is  said,  became  so  great  with  the  gifted 
people,  called  the  Faery  folk,  that  he  could,  like  them,  foretell  the  future 
deed  before  it  came  to  pass,  and  united  in  his  own  person  the  quality  of 
bard  and  of  soothsayer.  But  of  late  years  he  had  vanished  almost  entirely 
from  this  mortal  scene ;  and  although  the  time  and  manner  of  his  death 
were  never  publicly  known,  yet  the  general  belief  was,  that  he  was  not 
severed  from  the  land  of  the  living,  but  removed  to  the  land  of  Faery,  from 
whence  he  sometimes  made  excursions,  and  concerned  himself  only  about 
matters  which  were  to  come  hereafter,  Ilugonet  was  the  more  earnest  to 
prevent  the  loss  of  the  works  of  this  ancient  bard,  as  many  of  his  poems 
and  predictions  were  said  to  be  preserved  in  the  castle,  and  were  supposed 
to  contain  much  especially  connected  with  the  old  house  of  Douglas,  as  well 
as  other  families  of  ancient  descent,  who  had  been  subjects  of  this  old  man^s 
prophecy ;  and  accordingly  he  determined  to  save  this  volume  from  de¬ 
struction  in  the  general  conflagration  to  which  the  building  was  about  to  be 
consigned  by  the  heir  of  its  ancient  proprietors.  AVith  this  view  he  hurried 
up  into  the  little  old  vaulted  room,  called  ‘  the  Douglas’s  study,’  in  which 
there  might  be  some  dozen  old  books  written  by  the  ancient  chaplains,  in 
what  the  minstrels  call  the  letter  hlach.  He  immediately  discovered  the 
celebrated  lay,  called  Sir  Tristrem,  which  has  been  so  often  altered  and 
abridged  as  to  bear  little  resemblance  to  the  original.  Ilugonet,  who  well 
knew  the  value  in  which  this  poem  was  held  by  the  ancient  lords  of  the 
castle,  took  the  parchment  volume  from  the  shelves  of  the  library,  and  laid 
it  upon  a  small  desk  adjacent  to  the  Baron’s  chair.  Having  made  such 
preparation  for  putting  it  in  safety,  he  fell  into  a  brief  reverie,  in  which  the 
decay  of  light,  and  the  preparations  for  the  Douglas  Larder,  but  especially 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS.  285 

the  last  sight  of  objects  which  had  been  familiar  to  his  eyes,  now  on  the  eve 
of  destruction,  engaged  him  at  that  moment. 

“  The  bard,  therefore,  was  thinking  within  himself  upon  the  uncommon 
mixture  of  the  mystical  scholar  and  warrior  in  his  old  master,  when,  as  he 
bent  his  eyes  upon  the  book  of  the  ancient  Rhymer,  he  was  astonished  to 
observe  it  slowly  removed  from  the  desk  on  which  it  lay  by  an  invisible 
hand.  The  old  man  looked  with  horror  at  the  spontaneous  motion  of  the 
book,  for  the  safety  of  which  he  was  interested,  and  had  the  courage  to 
approach  a  little  nearer  the  table,  in  order  to  discover  by  what  means  it  had 
been  withdrawn. 

“  I  have  said  the  room  was  already  becoming  dark,  so  as  to  render  it 
difficult  to  distinguish  any  person  in  the  chair,  though  it  now  appeared,  on 
closer  examination,  that  a  kind  of  shadowy  outline  of  a  human  form  w'as 
seated  in  it,  but  neither  precise  enough  to  convey  its  exact  figure  to  the 
mind,  nor  so  detailed  as  to  intimate  distinctly  its  mode  of  action.  The 
Bard  of  Douglas,  therefore,  gazed  upon  the  object  of  his  fear,  as  if  he  had 
looked  upon  something  not  mortal ;  nevertheless,  as  he  gazed  more  intently, 
he  became  more  capable  of  discovering  the  object  which  offered  itself  to 
his  eyes,  and  they  grew  by  degrees  more  keen  to  penetrate  what  they 
witnessed.  A  tall  thin  form,  attired  in,  or  rather  shaded  with,  a  long 
flowing  dusky  robe,  having  a  face  and  physiognomy  so  wdld  and  overgrown 
w'ith  hair  as  to  be  hardly  human,  were  the  only  marked  outlines  of  the 
phantom ;  and,  looking  more  attentively,  Ilugonet  was  still  sensible  of  two 
other  forms,  the  outlines,  it  seemed,  of  a  hart  and  a  hind,  which  appeared 
half  to  shelter  themselves  behind  the  person  and  under  the  robe  of  this 
supernatural  figure.^^ 

“  A  probable  tale,'^  said  the  knight,  “  for  you.  Sir  Minstrel,  a  man  of 
sense  as  you  seem  to  be,  to  recite  so  gravely !  From  what  wise  authority 
have  you  had  this  tale,  which,  though  it  might  pass  well  enough  amid 
clanging  beakers,  must  be  held  quite  apocryphal  in  the  sober  hours  of  the 
morning ‘t” 

“  By  my  minstrel  word,  Sir  Knight,”  answered  Bertram,  “  I  am  no 
propagator  of  the  fable,  if  it  be  one ;  Ilugonet,  the  violer,  when  he  had 
retired  into  a  cloister  near  the  Lake  of  Pembelmere  in  Wales,  communicated 
the  story  to  me  as  I  now  tell  it.  Therefore,  as  it  w^as  upon  the  authority  of 
an  eyewitness,  I  apologize  not  for  relating  it  to  you,  since  I  could  hardly 
discover  a  more  direct  source  of  knowledge.” 

“  Be  it  so.  Sir  Minstrel,”  said  the  knight ;  “  tell  on  thy  tale,  and  may 
thy  legend  escape  criticism  from  others  as  well  as  from  me.” 

“  Ilugonet,  Sir  Knight,”  answered  Bertram,  “  w^as  a  holy  man,  and 
maintained  a  fair  character  during  his  whole  life,  notwithstanding  his  trade 
may  be  esteemed  a  light  one.  The  vision  spoke  to  him  in  an  antique 
language,  like  that  formerly  used  in  the  kingdom  of  Strath-Clyde,  being  a 
species  of  Scots  or  Gaelic,  which  few  would  have  comprehended. 

“‘You  are  a  learned  man,'  said  the  apparition,  ‘and  not  unacquainted 
with  the  dialects  used  in  your  countr}^  formerly,  although  they  are  now  out 
of  date,  and  you  are  obliged  to  translate  them  into  the  vulgar  Saxon  of 
Deira  or  Northumberland ;  but  highly  must  an  ancient  British  bard  prize 
one  in  this  “  remote  term  of  time,”  who  sets  upon  the  poetry  of  his  native 
country  a  value  which  invites  him  to  think  of  its  preservation  at  a  moment 
of  such  terror  as  influences  the  present  evening.' 

“  ‘  It  is,  indeed,'  said  Ilugonet,  ‘  a  night  of  terror,  that  calls  even  the 
dead  from  the  grave,  and  makes  them  the  ghastly  and  fearful  companions 
of  the  living — Who  or  what  art  thou,  in  God’s  name,  who  breakest  the 
bounds  which  divide  them,  and  revisitest  thus  strangely  the  state  thou  hast 
BO  long  bid  adieu  to  ?’ 

“  ‘  I  am,'  replied  the  vision,  ‘  that  celebrated  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  by 
some  called  Thomas  of  Erceldoun,  or  Thomas  the  True  Speaker.  Like 


286 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


other  sages,  I  am  permitted  at  times  to  revisit  the  scenes  of  my  former  life, 
nor  am  I  incapable  of  removing  the  shadowy  clouds  and  darkness  which 
overhang  futurity ;  and  know,  thou  afflicted  man,  that  what  thou  now  seest 
in  this  woful  country,  is  not  a  general  emblem  of  what  shall  therein  befall 
hereafter,  but  in  proportion  as  the  Douglasses  are  now  suffering  the  loss 
and  destruction  of  their  home  for  their  loyalty  to  the  rightful  heir  of  the 
Scottish  kingdom,  so  hath  Heaven  appointed  for  them  a  just  reward;  and 
as  they  have  not  spared  to  burn  and  destroy  their  own  house  and  that  of 
their  fathers  in  the  Bruce’s  cause,  so  is  it  the  doom  of  Heaven,  that  as  often 
as  the  walls  of  Douglas  Castle  shall  be  burnt  to  the  ground,  they  shall  be 
again  rebuilt  still  more  stately  and  more  magnificent  than  before/ 

“  A  cry  was  now  heard  like  that  of  a  multitude  in  the  courtyard,  joining 
in  a  fierce  shout  of  exultation ;  at  the  same  time  a  broad  and  ruddy  glow 
seemed  to  burst  from  the  beams  and  rafters,  and  sparks  flew  from  them  as 
from  the  smith’s  stithy,  while  the  element  caught  to  its  fuel,  and  the  con¬ 
flagration  broke  its  way  through  every  aperture. 

“  ‘  See  ye  that  ?’  said  the  vision,  casting  his  eye  towards  the  windows  and 
disappearing — ‘  Begone  !  The  fated  hour  of  removing  this  book  is  not  yet 
come,  nor  are  thine  the  destined  hands.  But  it  will  be  safe  where  I  have 
placed  it,  and  the  time  of  its  removal  shall  come.’  The  voice  was  heard 
after  the  form  had  vanished,  and  the  brain  of  Hugonet  almost  turned  round 
at  the  wild  scene  which  he  beheld ;  his  utmost  exertion  was  scarcely  suf¬ 
ficient  to  withdraw  him  from  the  terrible  spot,  and  Douglas  Castle  that 
night  sunk  into  ashes  and  smoke,  to  arise,  in  no  great  length  of  time,  in  a 
form  stronger  than  ever.”  The  minstrel  stopt,  and  his  hearer,  the  English 
knight,  remained  silent  for  some  minutes  ere  at  length  he  replied. 

“  It  is  true,  minstrel,”  answered  Sir  Aymer,  “  that  your  tale  is  so  far 
undeniable,  that  this  castle  —  three  times  burned  down  by  the  heir  of  the 
house  and  of  the  barony — has  hitherto  been  as  often  reared  again  by  Henry 
Lord  Clifford,  and  other  generals  of  the  English,  who  endeavoured  on  every 
occasion  to  build  it  up  more  artificially  and  more  strongly  than  it  had 
formerly  existed,  since  it  occupies  a  position  too  important  to  the  safety  of 
our  Scottish  border  to  permit  our  yielding  it  up.  This  I  myself  have 
partly  witnessed.  But  I  cannot  think,  that  because  the  castle  has  been  so 
destroyed,  it  is  therefore  decreed  so  to  be  repaired  in  future,  considering 
that  such  cruelties,  as  surely  cannot  meet  the  approbation  of  Heaven,  have 
attended  the  feats  of  the  Douglasses.  But  I  see  thou  art  determined  to 
keep  thine  own  faith,  nor  can  I  blame  thee,  since  the  wonderful  turns  of 
fate  which  have  attended  this  fortress,  are  sufficient  to  warrant  any  one  to 
watch  for  what  seem  the  peculiar  indications  of  the  will  of  Heaven  ;  but 
thou  mayst  believe,  good  minstrel,  that  the  fault  shall  not  be  mine,  if  the 
young  Douglas  shall  have  opportunity  to  exercise  his  cookery  upon  a  second 
edition  of  his  family  larder,  or  to  profit  by  the  predictions  of  Thomas  the 
Bhymer.” 

“  I  do  not  doubt  due  circumspection  upon  your  own  part  and  Sir  John  do 
Walton’s,”  said  Bertram  ;  “  but  there  is  no  crime  in  my  saying  that  Heaven 
can  accomplish  its  own  purposes.  I  look  upon  Douglas  Castle  as  in  some 
degree  a  fated  place,  and  I  long  to  see  whq^t  changes  time  may  have  made 
in  it  during  the  currency  of  twenty  years.  Above  all,  I  desire  to  secure,  if 
possible,  the  volume  of  this  Thomas  of  Erceldoun,  having  in  it  such  a  fund 
of  forgotten  minstrelsy,  and  of  prophecies  respecting  the  future  fates  of 
the  British  kingdom,  both  northern  and  southern.” 

The  knight  made  no  answer,  but  rode  a  little  space  forward,  keeping  the 
upper  part  of  the  ridge  of  the  water,  by  which  the  road  down  the  vale 
seemed  to  be  rather  sharply  conducted.  It  at  length  attained  the  summit 
of  an  acclivity  of  considerable  length.  From  this  point,  and  behind  a  con¬ 
spicuous  rock,  which  appeared  to  have  been  pushed  aside,  as  it  were,  like 
the  scene  of  a  theatre  to  admit  a  view  of  the  under  part  of  the  valley,  the 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


287 


trayellers  beheld  the  extensive  vale,  parts  of  which  have  been  already 
shown  in  detail,  but  which,  as  the  river  became  narrower,  was  now  entirely 
laid  bare  in  its  height  and  depth  as  far  as  it  extended,  and  displayed  in  its 
precincts,  at  a  little  distance  from  the  course  of  the  stream,  the  towering 
and  lordly  castle  to  which  it  gave  the  name.  The  mist  which  continued  to 
encumber  the  valley  with  its  fleecy  clouds,  showed  imperfectly  the  rude 
fortifications  which  served  to  defend  the  small  town  of  Douglas,  which  was 
strong  enough  to  repel  a  desultory  attack,  but  not  to  withstand  what  was 
called  in  those  days  a  formal  siege.  The  most  striking  feature  was  its 
church,  an  ancient  Gothic  pile  raised  on  an  eminence  in  the  centre  of  the 
'town,  and  even  then  extremely  ruinous.  To  the  left,  and  lying  in  the  dis¬ 
tance,  might  be  seen  other  towers  and  battlements ;  and  divided  from  the 
town  by  a  piece  of  artificial  water,  which  extended  almost  around  it,  arose 
the  Dangerous  Castle  of  Douglas. 

Sternly  was  it  fortified,  after  the  fashion  of  the  middle  ages,  with  donjon 
and  battlements ;  displaying,  above  others,  the  tall  tower,  which  bore  the 
name  of  Lord  Henry's,  or  the  Clifford's  Tower. 

“Yonder  is  the  castle,"  said  Aymer  de  Valence,  extending  his  arm  with 
a  smile  of  triumph  upon  his  brow ;  “  thou  mayst  judge  thyself,  whether 
the  defences  added  to  it  under  the  ClifiFord  are  likely  to  render  its  next  cap¬ 
ture  a  more  easy  deed  than  the  last." 

The  minstrel  barely  shook  his  head,  and  quoted  from  the  Psalmist  — 
“Nisi  Dominus  custodiet”  Nor  did  he  prosecute  the  discourse,  though  De 
Valence  answered  eagerly,  “  My  own  edition  of  the  text  is  not  very  dif¬ 
ferent  from  thine ;  but,  methinks  thou  art  more  spiritually-minded  than 
can  always  be  predicated  of  a  wandering  minstrel." 

“  God  knows,"  said  Bertram,  “  that  if  I,  or  such  as  I,  are  forgetful  of 
the  finger  of  Providence  in  accomplishing  its  purposes  in  this  lower  world, 
we  have  heavier  blame  than  that  of  other  people,  since  we  are  perpetually 
called  upon,  in  the  exercise  of  our  fanciful  profession,  to  admire  the  turns 
of  fate  which  bring  good  out  of  evil,  and  which  render  those  who  think 
only  of  their  own  passions  and  purposes  the  executors  of  the  will  of 
Heaven." 

“  I  do  submit  to  what  you  say.  Sir  Minstrel,"  answered  the  knight,  “  and 
it  would  be  unlawful  to  express  any  doubt  of  the  truths  which  you  speak 
so  solemnly,  any  more  than  of  your  own  belief  in  them.  Let  me  add,  sir, 
that  I  think  I  have  power  enough  in  this  garrison  to  bid  you  welcome,  and 
Sir  John  de  Walton,  I  hope,  will  not  refuse  access  to  hall,  castle,  or  knight's 
bower,  to  a  person  of  your  profession,  and  by  whose  conversation  we  shall, 
perhaps,  profit  somewhat.  I  cannot,  however,  lead  you  to  expect  such 
indulgence  for  your  son,  considering  the  present  state  of  his  health  ;  but  if 
I  procure  him  the  privilege  to  remain  at  the  convent  of  Saint  Bride,  he  will 
be  there  unmolested  and  in  safety,  until  you  have  renewed  your  acquaint¬ 
ance  with  Douglas  Dale  and  its  history,  and  are  disposed  to  set  forward  on 
your  journey." 

“  I  embrace  your  honour's  proposal  the  more  willingly,"  said  the  minstrel, 
“  that  I  can  recompense  the  Father  Abbot." 

“  A  main  point  with  holy  men  or  women,"  replied  De  Valence,  “  who,  in 
time  of  warfare,  subsist  by  affording  the  visitors  of  their  shrine  the  means 
of  maintenance  in  their  cloisters  for  a  passing  season." 

The  party  now  approached  the  sentinels  on  guard  at  the  castle,  who  were 
closely  and  thickly  stationed,  and  who  respectfully  admitted  Sir  Aymer  de 
Valence,  as  next  in  command  under  Sir  John  de  Walton.  Fabian  — for  so 
was  the  young  squire  named  who  attended  on  De  Valence  —  mentioned  it 
as  his  master's  pleasure  that  the  minstrel  should  also  be  admitted. 

An  old  archer,  however,  looked  hard  at  the  minstrel  as  he  followed  Sir 
Aymer.  “  It  is  not  for  us,"  said  he,  “  or  any  of  our  degree,  to  oppose  the 
pleasure  of  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence,  nephew  to  the  Earl  of  Pembroke,  in 


288 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


such  a  matter ;  and  for  us,  Master  Fabian,  welcome  are  you  to  make  the 
gleeman  your  companion  both  at  bed  and  board,  as  well  as  your  visitant,  a 
week  or  two  at  the  Castle  of  Douglas ;  but  your  worship  is  well  aware  of 
the  strict  order  of  watch  laid  upon  us,  and  if  Solomon,  King  of  Israel,  were 
to  come  here  as  a  travelling  minstrel,  by  my  faith  I  durst  not  give  him 
entrance,  unless  I  had  positive  authority  from  Sir  John  de  Walton/^ 

“  Do  you  doubt,  sirrah,’^  said  Aymer  de  Valence,  who  returned  on  hearing 
an  altercation  betwixt  Fabian  and  the  archer — “do  you  doubt  that  I  have 
good  authority  to  entertain  a  guest,  or  do  you  presume  to  contest  it  V’ 

“  Heaven  forbid  \”  said  the  old  man,  “  that  I  should  presume  to  place  my 
own  desire  in  opposition  to  your  worship,  who  has  so  lately  and  so  honour¬ 
ably  acquired  your  spurs  ;  but  in  this  matter  I  must  think  what  will  be  the 
wish  of  Sir  John  de  Walton,  who  is  your  governor.  Sir  Knight,  as  well  as 
mine  ;  and  so  far  I  hold  it  worth  while  to  detain  your  guest  until  Sir  John 
return  from  a  ride  to  the  outposts  of  the  castle ;  and  this,  I  conceive,  being 
my  duty,  will  be  no  matter  of  offence  to  your  worship.” 

“  Methinks,”  said  the  knight,  “  it  is  saucy  in  thee  to  suppose  that  my 
commands  can  have  any  thing  in  them  improper,  or  contradictory  to  those 
of  Sir  John  de  Walton;  thou  mayst  trust  to  me  at  least  that  thou  shalt 
come  to  no  harm.  Keep  this  man  in  the  guard-room  ;  let  him  not  want 
good  cheer,  and  when  Sir  John  de  Walton  returns,  report  him  as  a  person 
admitted  by  my  invitation,  and  if  any  thing  more  be  wanted  to  make  out 
your  excuse,  I  shall  not  be  reluctant  in  stating  it  to  the  governor.” 

The  archer  made  a  signal  of  obedience  with  the  pike  which  he  held  in 
his  hand,  and  resumed  the  grave  and  solemn  manner  of  a  sentinel  upon  his 
post.  lie  first,  however,  ushered  in  the  minstrel,  and  furnished  him  with 
food  and  liquor,  speaking  at  the  same  time  to  Fabian,  who  remained  behind. 
The  smart  young  stripling  had  become  very  proud  of  late,  in  consequence 
of  obtaining  the  name  of  Sir  Aymer’s  squire,  and  advancing  a  step  in 
chivalry,  as  Sir  Aymer  himself  had,  somewhat  earlier  than  the  usual  period, 
been  advanced  from  squire  to  knight. 

“I  tell  thee,  Fabian,”  said  the  old  archer,  (whose  gravity,  sagacity,  and 
skill  in  his  vocation,  while  they  gained  him  the  confidence  of  all  in  the 
castle,  subjected  him,  as  he  himself  said,  occasionally  to  the  ridicule  of  the 
young  coxcombs ;  and  at  the  same  time  we  may  add,  rendered  him  some¬ 
what  pragmatic  and  punctilious  towards  those  who  stood  higher  than  him¬ 
self  in  birth  and  rank  ;)  “  I  tell  thee,  Fabian,  thou  wilt  do  thy  master.  Sir 
Aymer,  good  service,  if  thou  wilt  give  him  a  hint  to  suffer  an  old  archer, 
man-at-arms,  or  such  like,  to  give  him  a  fair  and  civil  answer  respecting 
that  which  he  commands ;  for  undoubtedly  it  is  not  in  the  first  score  of  a 
man’s  years  that  he  learns  the  various  proper  forms  of  military  service  ; 
and  Sir  John  de  Walton,  a  most  excellent  commander  no  doubt,  is  one 
earnestly  bent  on  pursuing  the  strict  line  of  his  duty,  and  will  be  rigorously 
severe,  as  well,  believe  me,  with  thy  master  as  with  a  lesser  person.  Nay, 
he  also  possesses  that  zeal  for  his  duty  which  induces  him  to  throw  blame, 
if  there  be  the  slightest  ground  for  it,  upon  Aymer  de  Valence  himself, 
although  his  uncle,  the  Earl  of  Pembroke,  was  John  de  Walton’s  steady 
patron,  and  laid  the  beginning  of  his  good  fortune ;  for  all  which,  by  train¬ 
ing  up  his  nephew  in  the  true  discipline  of  the  French  wars.  Sir  John  has 
taken  the  best  way  of  showing  himself  grateful  to  the  cld  Earl.” 

“Be  it  as  you  will,  old  Gilbert  Greenleaf,”  answered  Fabian,  “thou 
knowest  I  never  quarrel  with  thy  sermonizing,  and  therefore  give  me  credit 
for  submitting  to  many  a  lecture  from  Sir  John  de  Walton  and  thyself ;  but 
thou  drivest  this  a  little  too  far,  if  thou  canst  not  let  a  day  pass  without 
giving  me  a  flogging.  Credit  me.  Sir  John  de  Walton  will  not  thank  thee, 
if  thou  term  him  one  too  old  to  remember  that  he  himself  had  once  some 
green  sap  in  his  veins.  Ay,  thus  it  is,  the  old  man  will  not  forget  that  he 
has  once  been  young,  nor  the  young  that  he  must  some  day  be  old ;  and  so 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


289 


the  one  changes  his  manners  into  the  lingering  formality  of  advanced  age, 
and  the  other  remains  like  a  midsummer  torrent  swoln  with  rain,  every 
drop  of  water  in  it  noise,  froth,  and  overflow.  There  is  a  maxim  for  thee, 
Gilbert! — lleardest  thou  ever  bettor?  hang  it  up  amidst  thy  axioms  of  wis¬ 
dom,  and  see  if  it  will  not  pass  among  them  like  fifteen  to  the  dozen.  It 
will  serve  to  bring  thee  off,  man,  when  the  wine-pot  (thine  only  fault,  good 
Gilbert)  hath  brought  thee  on  occasion  into  something  of  a  scrape.^^ 

“  Best  keep  it  for  thyself,  good  Sir  Squire,^^  said  the  old  man  ;  “  me- 
thinks  it  is  more  like  to  stand  thyself  one  day  in  good  stead.  Who  ever 
heard  of  a  knight,  or  of  the  wood  of  which  a  knight  is  made,  and  that  is  a 
squire,  being  punished  corporally  like  a  poor  old  archer  or  horseboy? 
Your  worst  fault  will  be  mended  by  some  of  these  witty  sayings,  and  your 
best  service  will  scarce  be  rewarded  more  thankfully  than  by  giving  thee 
the  name  of  Fabian  the  Fabler,  or  some  such  witty  title.^^ 

Having  unloosed  his  repartee  to  this  extent,  old  Greenleaf  resumed  a 
certain  acidity  of  countenance,  which  may  be  said  to  characterise  those 
whose  preferment  hath  become  frozen  under  the  influence  of  the  slowness 
of  its  progress,  and  who  display  a  general  spleen  against  such  as  have  ob¬ 
tained  the  advancement  for  which  all  are  struggling,  earlier,  and,  as  they 
suppose,  with  less  merit  than  their  own.  From  time  to  time  the  eye  of  the 
old  sentinel  stole  from  the  top  of  his  pike,  and  with  an  air  of  triumph  rested 
upon  the  young  man  Fabian,  as  if  to  see  how  deeply  the  wound  had  galled 
him,  while  at  the  same  time  he  held  himself  on  the  alert  to  perform  what¬ 
ever  mechanical  duty  his  post  might  require.  Both  Fabian  and  his  master 
were  at  the  happy  period  of  life  when  such  discontent  as  that  of  the  grave 
archer  aftected  them  lightly,  and,  at  the  very  worst,  was  considered  as  the 
jest  of  an  old  man  and  a  good  soldier ;  the  more  especially,  as  he  was 
always  willing  to  do  the  duty  of  his  companions,  and  was  much  trusted  by 
Sir  John  de  Walton,  who,  though  very  much  younger,  had  been  bred  up 
like  Greenleaf  in  the  wars  of  Edward  the  First,  and  was  tenacious  in  up¬ 
holding  strict  discipline,  which,  since  the  death  of  that  great  monarch,  had 
been  considerably  neglected  by  the  young  and  warm-blooded  valour  of 
England. 

Meantime  it  occurred  to  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence,  that  though  in  displaying 
the  usual  degree  of  hospitality  shown  to  such  a  man  as  Bertram,  he  had 
merely  done  what  was  becoming  his  own  rank,  as  one  possessed  of  the 
highest  honours  of  chivalry  —  the  self-styled  minstrel  might  not  in  reality 
be  a  man  of  that  worth  which  he  assumed.  There  was  certainly  something 
in  his  conversation,  at  least  more  grave,  if  not  more  austere,  than  was  com¬ 
mon  to  those  of  his  calling ;  and  when  he  recollected  many  points  of  Sir 
John  de  Walton’s  minuteness,  a  doubt  arose  in  his  mind,  that  the  governor 
might  not  approve  of  his  having  introduced  into  the  castle  a  person  of  Ber¬ 
tram’s  character,  who  was  capable  of  making  observations  from  which  the 
garrison  might  afterwards  feel  much  danger  and  inconvenience.  Secretly, 
therefore,  he  regretted  that  he  had  not  fairly  intimated  to  the  wandering 
minstrel,  that  his  reception,  or  that  of  any  stranger,  within  the  Dangerous 
Castle,  was  not  at  present  permitted  by  the  circumstances  of  the  times. 
In  this  case,  the  express  line  of  his  duty  would  have  been  his  vindication, 
and  instead,  perhaps  of  discountenance  and  blame,  he  would  have  had 
praise  and  honour  from  his  superior. 

With  these  thoughts  passing  through  his  mind,  some  tacit  apprehension 
arose  of  a  rebuke  on  the  part  of  his  commanding-officer;  for  this  officer, 
notwithstanding  his  strictness.  Sir  Aymer  loved  as  well  as  feared.  lie 
went,  therefore,  towards  the  guard-room  of  the  castle,  under  the  pretence 
of  seeing  that  the  rites  of  hospitality  had  been  duly  observed  towards  his 
late  travelling  companion.  The  minstrel  arose  respectfully,  and  from  the 
manner  in  which  he  paid  his  compliments,  seemed,  if  he  had  not  expected 
this  call  of  enquiry,  at  least  to  bo  m  no  degree  surprised  at  it.  Sir  Aymer, 
VuL.  XII.— lU  z 


290 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


on  the  other  hand,  assumed  an  air  something  more  distant  than  heliad  yet 
used  towards  Bertram,  and  in  reverting  to  his  former  invitation,  he  now  so 
far  qualified  it  as  to  say,  that  the  minstrel  knew  that  he  was  only  second  in 
command,  and  that  effectual  permission  to  enter  the  castle  ought  to  be  sanc¬ 
tioned  by  Sir  John  de  Walton. 

There  is  a  civil  way  of  seeming  to  believe  any  apology  which  people  are 
disposed  to  receive  in  payment,  without  alleging  suspicion  of  its  currency. 
The  minstrel,  therefore,  tendered  his  thanks  for  the  civility  which  had  so 
far  been  shown  to  him.  “  It  was  a  mere  wish  of  passing  curiosity, he 
said,  “  which,  if  not  granted,  could  be  attended  with  no  consequences  either 
inconvenient  or  disagreeable  to  him.  Thomas  of  Erceldoun  was,  according 
to  the  Welsh  triads,  one  of  the  three  hards  of  Britain,  who  never  stained  a 
spear  with  blood,  or  was  guilty  either  of  taking  or  retaking  castles  and 
fortresses,  and  thus  far  not  a  person  likely,  after  death,  to  be  suspected  of 
such  warlike  feats.  But  I  can  easily  conceive  why  Sir  John  de  Walton 
should  have  allowed  the  usual  rites  of  hospitality  to  fall  into  disuse,  and 
why  a  man  of  public  character  like  myself  ought  not  to  desire  food  or 
lodging  where  it  is  accounted  so  dangerous ;  and  it  can  surprise  no  one  why 
the  governor  did  not  even  invest  his  worthy  young  lieutenant  with  the  power 
of  dispensing  with  so  strict  and  unusual  a  rule.^^ 

These  words,  very  coolly  spoken,  had  something  of  the  effect  of  affronting 
the  young  knight,  as  insinuating,  that  he  was  not  held  sufficiently  trust¬ 
worthy  by  Sir  John  de  Walton,  with  whom  he  had  lived  on  terms  of  affec¬ 
tion  and  familiarity,  though  the  governor  had  attained  his  thirtieth  year 
and  upwards,  and  his  lieutenant  did  not  yet  write  himself  one-and-twenty, 
the  full  age  of  chivalry  having  been  in  his  case  particularly  dispensed  with, 
owing  to  a  feat  of  early  manhood.  Ere  he  had  fully  composed  the  angry 
thoughts  which  were  chafing  in  his  mind,  the  sound  of  a  hunting  bugle  was 
heard  at  the  gate,  and  from  the  sort  of  general  stir  which  it  spread  through 
the  garrison,  it  was  plain  that  the  governor  had  returned  from  his  ride. 
Every  sentinel,  seemingly  animated  by  his  presence,  shouldered  his  pike 
more  uprightly,  gave  the  word  of  the  post  more  sharply,  and  seemed  more 
fully  awake  and  conscious  of  his  duty.  Sir  John  de  Walton  having  alighted 
from  his  horse,  asked  Greenleaf  what  had  passed  during  his  absence  ;  the 
old  archer  thought  it  his  duty  to  say  that  a  minstrel,  who  seemed  like  a 
Scotchman,  or  wandering  borderer,  had  been  admitted  into  the  castle,  while 
his  son,  a  lad  sick  of  the  pestilence  so  much  talked  of,  had  been  left  for  a 
time  at  the  Abbey  of  Saint  Bride.  This  he  said  on  Fabian’s  information. 
The  archer  added,  that  the  father  was  a  man  of  tale  and  song,  who  could 
keep  the  whole  garrison  amused,  without  giving  them  leave  to  attend  to 
their  own  business. 

“We  want  no  such  devices  to  pass  the  time,”  answered  the  governor  ; 
“  and  we  would  have  been  better  satisfied  if  our  lieutenant  had  been  pleased 
to  find  us  other  guests,  and  fitter  for  a  direct  and  frank  communication,  than 
one  who,  by  his  profession,  is  a  detractor  of  God  and  a  deceiver  of  man.” 

“Yet,”  said  the  old  soldier,  who  could  hardly  listen  even  to  his  com¬ 
mander  without  indulging  the  humour  of  contradiction,  “  I  have  heard 
your  honour  intimate  that  the  trade  of  a  minstrel,  when  it  is  justly  acted 
up  to,  is  as  worthy  as  even  the  degree  of  knighthood  itself.” 

“  Such  it  may  have  been  in  former  days,”  answered  the  knight ;  “  but  in 
modern  minstrelsy,  the  duty  of  rendering  the  art  an  incentive  to  virtue  is 
forgotten,  and  it  is  well  if  the  poetr}^  which  fired  our  fathers  to  noble  deeds, 
does  not  now  push  on  their  children  to  such  as  are  base  and  unworthy. 
But  I  will  speak  upon  this  tomiy  friend  Aymer,  than  whom  I  do  not  know 
a  more  excellent,  or  a  more  high-spirited  young  man.” 

While  discoursing  with  the  archer  in  this  manner,  Sir  John  de  Walton, 
of  a  tall  and  handsome  figure,  advanced  and  stood  within  the  ample  arch 
.  of  the  guard-room  chimney,  and  was  listened  to  in  reverential  silence  by 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


291 


trusty  Gilbert,  who  filled  up  with  nods  and  signs,  as  an  attentive  auditor, 
the  pauses  in  the  conversation.  The  conduct  of  another  hearer  of  what 
passed  was  not  equally  respectful,  but,  from  his  position,  he  escaped  obser¬ 
vation. 

This  third  person  was  no  other  than  the  squire  Fabian,  who  was  concealed 
from  observation  by  his  position  behind  the  hob,  or  projecting  portion  of  the 
old-fashioned  fireplace,  and  hid  himself  yet  more  carefully  when  he  hoard 
the  conversation  between  the  governor  and  the  archer  turn  to  the  prejudice, 
as  he  thought,  of  his  master.  The  squire’s  employment  at  this  time  was 
the  servile  task  of  cleaning  Sir  Aymer’s  arms,  which  was  conveniently  per¬ 
formed  by  heating,  upon  the  projection  already  specified,  the  pieces  of  steel 
armour  for  the  usual  thin  coating  of  varnish,  lie  could  not,  therefore,  if 
he  should  be  discovered,  be  considered  as  guilty  of  any  thing  insolent  or 
disrespectful.  He  was  better  screened  from  view,  as  a  thick  smoke  arose 
from  a  quantity  of  oak  panelling,  carved  in  many  cases  with  the  crest  and 
achievements  of  the  Douglas  family,  which  being  the  fuel  nearest  at  hand, 
lay  smouldering  in  the  chimney,  and  gathering  to  a  blaze: 

The  governor,  unconscious  of  this  addition  to  his  audience,  pursued  his 
conversation  with  Gilbert  Greenleaf :  “  I  need  not  tell  you,”  he  said,  “  that 
I  am  interested  in  the  speedy  termination  of  this  siege  or  blockade,  with 
which  Douglas  continues  to  threaten  us  ;  my  own  honour  and  affections  aro 
engaged  in  keeping  this  Dangerous  Castle  safe  in  England’s  behalf,  but  I 
am  troubled  at  the  admission  of  this  stranger;  and  young  De  Valence 
would  have  acted  more  strictly  in  the  line  of  his  duty,  if  he  had  refused  to 
this  wanderer  any  communication  with  this  garrison  without  my  per¬ 
mission.” 

“  Pity  it  is,”  replied  old  Greenleaf,  shaking  his  head,  “  that  this  good- 
natured  and  gallant  young  knight  is  somewhat  drawn  aside  by  the  rash 
advices  of  his  squire,  the  boy  Fabian,  who  has  bravery,  but  as  little  steadi¬ 
ness  in  him  as  a  bottle  of  fermented  small  beer.” 

“Now  hang  thee,”  thought  Fabian  to  himself,  “for  an  old  relic  of  the 
wars,  stuffed  full  of  conceit  and  warlike  terms,  like  the  soldier  who,  to  keep 
himself  from  the  cold,  has  lapped  himself  so  close  in  a  tattered  ensign  for 
a  shelter,  that  his  very  outside  may  show  nothing  but  rags  and  blazonry.” 

“  I  would  not  think  twice  of  the  matter,  were  the  party  less  dear  to  me,” 
said  Sir  John  de  Walton.  “  But  I  would  fain  be  of  use  to  this  young  man, 
even  although  I  should  purchase  his  improvement  in  military  knowledge  at 
the  expense  of  giving  him  a  little  pain.  Experience  should,  as  it  were,  be 
burnt  in  upon  the  mind  of  a  young  man,  and  not  merely  impressed  by 
marking  the  lines  of  his  chart  out  for  him  with  chalk ;  I  will  remember  the 
hint  you,  Greenleaf,  have  given,  and  take  an  opportunity  of  severing  these 
two  young  men ;  and  though  I  most  dearly  love  the  one,  and  am  far  from 
wishing  ill  to  the  other,  yet  at  present,  as  you  well  hint,  the  blind  is  leading 
the  blind,  and  the  young  knight  has  for  his  assistant  and  counsellor  too 
young  a  squire,  and  that  must  be  amended.” 

“  Marry !  out  upon  thee,  old  palmer-worm !”  said  the  page  within  him¬ 
self;  “have  I  found  thee  in  the  very  fact  of  maligning  myself  and  my 
master,  as  it  is  thy  nature  to  do  towards  all  the  hopeful  young  buds  of  chi¬ 
valry  ?  If  it  were  not  to  dirty  the  arms  of  an  eUve  of  chivalry,  by  mea¬ 
suring-  them  with  one  of  thy  rank,  I  might  honour  thee  with  a  knightly 
invitation  to  the  field,  while  the  scandal  which  thou  hast  spoken  is  still  foul 
upon  thy  tongue  ;  as  it  is,  thou  shalt  not  carry  one  kind  of  language  pub¬ 
licly  in  the  castle,  and  another  before  the  governor,  upon  the  footing  of 
having  served  with  him  under  the  banner  of  Longshanks.  I  will  carry  to 
my  master  this  tale  of  thine  evil  intentions;  and  when  we  have  concerted 
together,  it  shall  appear  whether  the  youthful  spirits  of  the  garrison  or  the 
grey  beards  are  most  likely  to  be  the  hope  and  protection  of  this  same 
Castle  of  Douglas.” 


292 


WAVEBLEY  NOVELS. 


It  is  enough  to  say  that  Fabian  pursued  his  purpose,  in  carrying  to  his 
master,  and  in  no  very  good  humour,  the  report  of  what  had  passed  be¬ 
tween  Sir  John  de  AValton  and  the  old  soldier.  He  succeeded  in  represent¬ 
ing  the  whole  as  a  formal  offence  intended  to  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence ;  while 
all  that  the  governor  did  to  remove  the  suspicions  entertained  by  the  young 
knight,  could  not  in  any  respect  bring  him  to  take  a  kindly  view  of  the 
feelings  of  his  commander  towards  him.  He  retained  the  impression  which 
he  had  formed  from  Fabian’s  recital  of  what  he  had  heard,  and  did  not 
think  he  was  doing  Sir  John  de  Walton  any  injustice,  in  supposing  him 
desirous  to  engross  the  greatest  share  of  the  fame  acquired  in  the  defence 
of  the  castle,  and  .thrusting  back  his  companions,  who  might  reasonably 
pretend  to  a  fair  portion  of  it. 

The  mother  of  mischief,  says  a  Scottish  proverb,  is  no  bigger  than  a 
midge’s  wing.*  In  this  matter  of  quarrel,  neither  the  young  man  nor  the 
older  knight  had  afforded  each  other  any  just  cause  of  offence.  De  Walton 
was  a  strict  observer  of  military  discipline,  in  which  he  had  been  educated 
from  his  extreme  youth,  and  by  which  he  was  almost  as  completely  ruled 
as  by  his  natural  disposition ;  and  his  present  situation  added  force  to  his 
original  education. 

Common  report  had  even  exaggerated  the  military  skill,  the  love  of  ad¬ 
venture,  and  the  great  variety  of  enterprise,  ascribed  to  James,  the  young 
Lord  of  Douglas.  He  had,  in  the  eyes  of  this  Southern  garrison,  the  facul¬ 
ties  of  a  fiend,  rather  than  those  of  a  mere  mortal ;  for  if  the  English  sol¬ 
diers  cursed  the  tedium  of  the  perpetual  watch  and  ward  upon  the  Dangerous 
Castle,  which  admitted  of  no  relaxation  from  the  severity  of  extreme  duty, 
they  agreed  that  a  tall  form  was  sure  to  appear  to  them  with  a  battle-axe 
in  his  hand,  and  entering  into  conversation  in  the  most  insinuating  manner, 
never  failed,  with  an  ingenuity  and  eloquence  equal  to  that  of  a  fallen 
spirit,  to  recommend  to  the  discontented  sentinel  some  mode  in  which,  by 
giving  his  assistance  to  betray  the  English,  he  might  set  himself  at  liberty. 
The  variety  of  these  devices,  and  the  frequency  of  their  recurrence,  kept 
Sir  John  de  Walton’s  anxiety  so  perpetually  upon  the  stretch,  that  he  at  no 
time  thought  himself  exactly  out  of  the  Black  Douglas’s  reach,  any  more 
than  the  good  Christian  supposes  himself  out  of  reach  of  the  wiles  of  the 
Devil ;  while  every  new  temptation,  instead  of  confirming  his  hope,  seems 
to  announce  that  the  immediate  retreat  of  the  Evil  One  will  be  followed  by 
some  new  attack  yet  more  cunningly  devised.  '  Under  this  general  state  of 
anxiety  and  apprehension,  the  temper  of  the  governor  changed  somewhat 
for  the  worse,  and  they  who  loved  him  best,  regretted  most  that  he  became 
addicted  to  complain  of  the  want  of  diligence  on  the  part  of  those,  who, 
neither  invested  with  responsibility  like  his,  nor  animated  by  the  hope  of 
such  splendid  rewards,  did  not  entertain  the  same  degree  of  watchful  and 
incessant  suspicion  as  himself.  The  soldiers  muttered  that  the  vigilance  of 
their  governor  was  marked  with  severity ;  the  officers  and  men  of  rank,  of 
whom  there  were  several,  as  the  castle  was  a  renowned  school  of  arms,  and 
there  was  a  certain  merit  attained  even  by  serving  within  its  walls,  com¬ 
plained,  at  the  same  time,  that  Sir  John  de  Walton  no  longer  made  parties 
for  hunting,  for  hawking,  or  for  any  purpose  which  might  soften  the  rigours 
of  warfare,  and  suffered  nothing  to  go  forward  but  the  precise  discipline  of 
the  castle.  On  the  other  hand,  it  may  be  usually  granted  that  the  castle  is 
well  kept  where  the  governor  is  a  disciplinarian  ;  and  where  feuds  and  per¬ 
sonal  quarrels  are  found  in  the  garrison,  the  young  men  are  usually  more 
in  fault  than  those  whose  greater  experience  has  convinced  them  of  the 
necessity  of  using  the  strictest  precautions. 

A  generous  mind— and  such  was  Sir  John  de  Walton’s — is  often  in  this 
way  changed  and  corrupted  by  the  habit  of  over-vigilance,  and  pushed 
beyond  its  natural  limits  of  candour.  Neither  was  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence 


•  i.  e.  Gnat’s  wing. 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


293 


free  from  a  similar  change  ;  suspicion,  though  from  a  different  cause,  seemed 
also  to  threaten  to  bias  his  open  and  noble  disposition,  in  those  qualities 
which  had  hitherto  been  proper  to  him.  It  was  in  vain  that  Sir  John  do 
Walton  studiously  sought  opportunities  to  give  his  younger  friend  indul¬ 
gences,  which  at  times  were  as  far  extended  as  the  duty  of  the  garrison 
permitted.  The  blow  was  struck  ;  the  alarm  had  been  given  to  a  proud  and 
fiery  temper  on  both  sides;  and  while  De  Valence  entertained  an  opinion 
that  he  was  unjustly  suspected  by  a  friend,  who  was  in  several  respects 
bound  to  him,  l)e  Walton,  on  the  other  hand,  was  led  to  conceive  that  a 
young  man,  of  whom  he  took  a  charge  as  affectionate  as  if  he  had  been  a 
son  of  his  own,  and  who  owed  to  his  lessons  what  he  knew  of  warfare,  and 
what  success  he  had  obtained  in  life,  had  taken  ofi'ence  at  trifles,  and  con¬ 
sidered  himself  ill-treated  on  very  inadequate  grounds.  The  seeds  of  disa¬ 
greement,  thus  sown  between  them,  failed  not,  like  the  tares  sown  by  the 
Enemy  among  the  wheat,  to  pass  from  one  class  of  the  garrison  to  another ; 
the  soldiers,  though  without  any  better  reason  than  merely  to  pass  the  time, 
took  different  sides  between  their  governor  and  his  young  lieutenant ;  and 
so  the  bail  of  contention  being  once  thrown  up  between  them,  never  lacked 
some  arm  or  other  to  keep  it  in  motion. 


(fjjnpttr  tilt  liitli. 

Alas !  they  had  been  friends  in  youth  ; 

But  whispering  tongues  can  poison  truth; 

And  constancy  lives  in  realms  above ; 

And  life  is  thorny,  and  youth  is  vain ; 

And  to  be  wroth  with  one  we  love. 

Doth  work  like  madness  in  the  brain. 
*•***« 

Each  spoke  words  of  high  disdain. 

And  insult  to  his  heart’s  dear  brother, 

But  never  either  found  another 
To  free  the  hollow  heart  from  paining — 

They  stood  aloof,  the  scars  remaining. 

Like  cliffs  which  had  been  rent  asunder; 

A  dreary  sea  now  flows  between, 

But  neither  heat,  nor  frost,  nor  thunder, 

Shall  wholly  do  away.  I  ween. 

The  marks  of  that  which  once  hath  been. 

Christabelue  of  Coleridge. 

In  prosecution  of  the  intention  which,  when  his  blood  was  cool,  seemed 
to  him  wisest.  Sir  John  de  Walton  resolved  that  he  would  go  to  the  verge 
of  indulgence  with  his  lieutenant  and  his  young  officers,  furnish  them  with 
every  species  of  amusement  which  the  place  rendered  possible,  and  make 
them  ashamed  of  their  discontent,  by  overloading  them  with  courtesy. 
The  first  time,  therefore,  that  he  saw  Aymer  de  Valence  after  his  return  to 
the  castle,  he  addressed  him  in  high  spirits,  whether  real  or  assumed. 

“What  thinkest  thou,  my  young  friend,”  said  De  Walton,  “if  we  try 
some  of  the  woodland  sports  proper,  they  say,  to  this  country  ?  There  are 
still  in  our  neighbourhood  some  herds  of  the  Caledonian  breed  of  wild 
cattle,  which  are  nowhere  to  be  found  except  among  the  moorlands  —  tho 
black  and  rugged  frontier  of  what  was  anciently  called  the  Kingdom  of 
Strath-Clyde.  There  are  some  hunters,  too,  who  have  been  accustomed  to 
the  sport,  and  who  vouch  that  these  animals  are  by  far  the  most  bold  and 
fierce  subjects  of  chase  in  the  island  of  Britain.” 

z  2 


294 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


“  You  will  do  as  you  please,’^  replied  Sir  Aymer,  coldly  ;  “  but  it  is  not 
I,  Sir  John,  who  would  recommend,  for  the  sake  of  a  hunting-match,  that 
you  should  involve  the  whole  garrison  in  danger ;  you  know  best  the 
responsibilities  incurred  by  your  office  here,  and  no  doubt  must  have  heed- 
fully  attended  to  them  before  making  a  proposal  of  such  a  nature/^ 

“I  do  indeed  know  my  own  duty,^^  replied  De  Walton,  offended  in  turn, 

and  might  be  allowed  to  think  of  yours  also,  without  assuming  more  than 
my  own  share  of  responsibility ;  but  it  seems  to  me  as  if  the  commander 
of  this  Dangerous  Castle,  among  other  inabilities,  were,  as  old  people  in 
this  country  say,  subjected  to  a  spell — and  one  which  renders  it  impossible 
for  him  to  guide  his  conduct  so  as  to  afford  pleasure  to  those  whom  he  is 
most  desirous  to  oblige.  Not  a  great  many  weeks  since,  whose  eyes  would 
have  sparkled  like  those  of  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence  at  the  proposal  of  a 
general  hunting-match  after  a  new  object  of  game ;  and  now  what  is  his 
bearing  when  such  sport  is  proposed,  merely,  I  think,  to  disappoint  my 
purpose  of  obliging  him  ? — a  cold  acquiescence  drops  half  frozen  from  his 
lips,  and  he  proposes  to  go  to  rouse  the  wild  cattle  with  an  air  of  gravity, 
as  if  he  were  undertaking  a  pilgrimage  to  the  tomb  of  a  martyr.’^ 

“  Not  so.  Sir  John,^^  answered  the  young  knight.  “  In  our  present  situa¬ 
tion  we  stand  conjoined  in  more  charges  than  one,  and  although  the  greater 
and  controlling  trust  is  no  doubt  laid  upon  you  as  the  elder  and  abler  knight, 
yet  still  I  feel  that  I  myself  have  my  own  share  of  a  serious  responsibility. 
I  trust,  therefore,  you  will  indulgently  hear  my  opinion,  and  bear  with  it, 
even  though  it  should  appear  to  have  relation  to  that  part  of  our  common 
charge  which  is  more  especially  intrusted  to  your  keeping.  The  dignity  of 
knighthood,  which  I  have  the  honour  to  share  with  you,  the  accolade  laid 
on  my  shoulder  by  the  royal  Plantagenet,  entitles  me,  methinks,  to  so  much 
grace.^^ 

“I  cry  you  mercy,^^  said  the  elder  cavalier;  “I  forgot  how  important  a 
person  I  had  before  me,  dubbed  by  King  Edward  himself,  who  was  moved 
no  doubt  by  special  reasons  to  confer  such  an  early  honour ;  and  I  certainly 
feel  that  I  overstep  my  duty  when  I  propose  any  thing  that  savours  like  idle 
sport  to  a  person  of  such  grave  pretensions.^^ 

“Sir  John  de  Walton,^^  retorted  De  Valence,  “we  have  had  something 
too  much  of  this  —  let  it  stop  here.  All  that  I  mean  to  say  is,  that  in  this 
wardship  of  Douglas  Castle,  it  will  not  be  by  my  consent,  if  any  amuse¬ 
ment,  which  distinctly  infers  a  relaxation  of  discipline,  be  unnecessarily 
engaged  in,  and  especially  such  as  compels  us  to  summon  to  our  assistance 
a  number  of  the  Scots,  whose  evil  disposition  towards  us  we  well  know ;  nor 
will  I,  though  my  years  have  rendered  me  liable  to  such  suspicion,  suffer 
any  thing  of  this  kind  to  be  imputed  to  me ;  and  if  unfortunately — though 
I  am  sure  I  know  not  why  —  we  are  in  future  to  lay  aside  those  bonds  of 
familiar  friendship  which  formerly  linked  us  to  each  other,  yet  I  see  no 
reason  why  we  should  not  bear  ourselves  in  our  necessary  communications 
like  knights  and  gentlemen,  and  put  the  best  construction  on  each  other’s 
motives,  since  there  can  be  no  reason  for  imputing  the  worst  to  any  thing 
that  comes  from  either  of  us.” 

“  You  may  be  right.  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence,”  said  the  governor,  bending 
stifi3.y :  “  and  since  you  say  we  are  no  longer  bound  to  each  other  as  friends, 
you  may  be  certain,  nevertheless,  that  I  will  never  permit  a  hostile  feeling, 
of  which  you  are  the  object,  to  occupy  my  bosom.  You  have  been  long, 
and  I  hope  not  uselessly,  my  pupil  in  the  duties  of  chivalry.  You  are  the 
near  relation  of  the  Earl  of  Pembroke,  my  kind  and  constant  patron  ;  and 
if  these  circumstances  are  well  weighed,  they  form  a  connexion  which  it 
would  be  difficult,  at  least  for  me,  to  break  through.  If  you  feel  yourself, 
as  you  seem  to  intimate,  less  strictly  tied  by  former  obligations,  you  must 
take  your  own  choice  in  fixing  our  relations  towards  each  other.” 

“I  can  only  say,”  replied  De  Valence,  “that  my  conduct  will  naturally 


I 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS.  295 

be  regulated  by  your  own  ;  and  you,  Sir  John,  cannot  hope  more  devoutly 
than  I  do  that  our  military  duties  may  be  fairly  discharged,  without  inter¬ 
fering  with  our  friendly  intercourse/^ 

The  knights  here  parted,  after  a  conference  which  once  or  twice  had  very 
nearly  terminated  in  a  full  and  cordial  explanation  ;  but  still  there  was 
wanting  one  kind  heartfelt  word  from  either  to  break,  as  it  were,  the  ice 
which  was  fast  freezing  upon  their  intercourse,  and  neither  chose  to  be  the 
first  in  making  the  necessary  advances  with  sufficient  cordiality,  though 
each  would  have  gladly  done  so,  had  the  other  appeared  desirous  of  meet¬ 
ing  it  with  the  same  ardour ;  but  their  pride  was  too  high,  and  prevented 
either  from  saying  what  might  at  once  have  put  them  upon  an  open  and 
manly  footing.  They  parted,  therefore,  without  again  returning  to  the 
subject  of  the  proposed  diversion ;  until  it  was  afterwards  resumed  in  a 
formal  note,  praying  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence  to  accompany  the  commandant 
of  Douglas  Castle  upon  a  solemn  hunting-match,  which  had  for  its  object 
the  wild  cattle  of  the  neighbouring  dale. 

The  time  of  meeting  was  appointed  at  six  in  the  morning,  beyond  the 
gate  of  the  outer  barricade ;  and  the  chase  was  declared  to  be  ended  in  the 
afternoon,  when  the  reclieat  should  be  blown  beneath  the  great  oak,  known 
by  the  name  of  Sholto’s  Club,  which  stood  a  remarkable  object,  where 
Douglas  Dale  was  bounded  by  several  scattered  trees,  the  outskirts  of  the 
forest  and  hill  country.  The  usual  warning  was  sent  out  to  the  common 
people,  or  vassals  of  the  district,  which  they,  notwithstanding  their  feeling 
of  antipathy,  received  in  general  with  delight,  upon  the  great  Epicurean 
principle  of  carpe  diem,  that  is  to  say,  in  whatever  circumstances  it  happens 
to  present  itself,  be  sure  you  lose  no  recreation  which  life  affords.  A  hunting- 
match  has  still  its  attractions,  even  though  an  English  knight  take  his  plea¬ 
sure  in  the  woods  of  the  Douglas. 

It  was  no  doubt  afflicting  to  these  faithful  vassals,  to  acknowledge  another 
lord  than  the  redoubted  Douglas,  and  to  wait  by  wood  and  river  at  the  com¬ 
mand  of  English  officers,  and  in  the  company  of  their  archers,  whom  they 
accounted  their  natural  enemies.  Still  it  was  the  only  species  of  amuse¬ 
ment  which  had  been  permitted  them  for  a  long  time,  and  they  were  not 
disposed  to  omit  the  rare  opportunity  of  joining  in  it.  The  chase  of  the 
wolf,  the  wild  boar,  or  even  the  timid  stag,  required  silvan  arms ;  the  wdld 
cattle  still  more  demanded  this  equipment  of  war-bows  and  shafts,  boar- 
spears  and  sharp  swords,  and  other  tools  of  the  chase  similar  to  those  used 
in  actual  war.  Considering  this,  the  Scottish  inhabitants  were  seldom 
allowed  to  join  in  the  chase,  except  under  regulations  as  to  number  and 
arms,  and  especially  in  preserving  a  balance  of  force  on  the  side  of  the 
English  soldiers,  which  was  very  offensive  to  them.  The  greater  part  of 
the  garrison  was  upon  such  occasions  kept  on  foot,  and  several  detachments, 
formed  according  to  the  governor’s  direction,  were  stationed  in  different 
positions  in  case  any  quarrel  should  suddenly  break  out. 


296 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


tjiB  iBUBntji. 

The  drivers  thorough  the  wood  went, 

For  to  raise  the  deer; 

Bowmen  bickered  upon  the  bent, 

With  their  broad  arrows  clear. 

The  wylde  thorough  the  woods  went. 

On  every  side  shear; 

Grehounds  thorough  the  groves  glent, 

For  to  kill  thir  deer. 

Ballad  of  Chevy  Chase,  Old  Edit. 

The  appointed  morning  came  in  cold  and  raw,  after  the  manner  of  the 
Scottish  March  weather.  Dogs  yelped,  yawned,  and  shivered,  and  the 
huntsmen,  though  hardy  and  cheerful  in  expectation  of  the  day’s  sport, 
twitched  their  mauds,  or  Lowland  plaids,  close  to  their  throats,  and  looked 
with  some  dismay  at  the  mists  which  floated  about  the  horizon,  now  threat¬ 
ening  to  sink  down  on  the  peaks  and  ridges  of  prominent  mountains,  and 
now  to  shift  their  position  under  the  influence  of  some  of  the  uncertain 
gales,  which  rose  and  fell  alternately,  as  they  swept  along  the  valley. 

Nevertheless,  the  appearance  of  the  whole  formed,  as  is  usual  in  almost 
all  departments  of  the  chase,  a  gay  and  a  jovial  spectacle.  A  brief  truce 
seemed  to  have  taken  place  between  the  nations,  and  the  Scottish  people 
appeared  for  the  time  rather  as  exhibiting  the  sports  of  their  mountains  in 
a  friendly  manner  to  the  accomplished  knights  and  bonny  archers  of  Old 
England,  than  as  performing  a  feudal  service,  neither  easy  nor  dignified  in 
itself,  at  the  instigation  of  usurping  neighbours.  The  figures  of  the  cava¬ 
liers,  now  half  seen,  now  exhibited  fully,  and  at  the  height  of  strenuous 
exertion,  according  to  the  character  of  the  dangerous  and  broken  ground, 
particularly  attracted  the  attention  of  the  pedestrians,  who,  leading  the  dogs 
or  beating  the  thickets,  dislodged  such  objects  of  chase  as  they  found  in  the 
dingles,  and  kept  their  eyes  fixed  upon  their  companions,  rendered  more  re¬ 
markable  from  being  mounted,  and  the  speed  at  which  they  urged  their 
horses ;  the  disregard  of  all  accidents  being  as  perfect  as  Melton-Mowbray 
itself,  or  any  other  noted  field  of  hunters  of  the  present  day,  can  exhibit. 

The  principles  on  which  modern  and  ancient  hunting  were  conducted, 
are,  however,  as  different  as  possible.  A  fox,  or  even  a  hare  is,  in  our  own 
day,  considered  as  a  sufficient  apology  for  a  day’s  exercise  to  forty  or  fifty 
dogs,  and  nearly  as  many  men  and  horses ;  but  the  ancient  chase,  even 
though  not  terminating,  as  it  often  did,  in  battle,  carried  with  it  objects  more 
important,  and  an  interest  immeasurably  more  stirring.  If  indeed  one 
species  of  exercise  can  be  pointed  out  as  more  universally  exhilarating  and 
engrossing  than  others,  it  is  certainly  that  of  the  chase.  The  poor  over¬ 
laboured  drudge,  who  has  served  out  his  day  of  life,  and  wearied  all  his 
energies  in  the  service  of  his  fellow-mortals  —  he  who  has  been  for  many 
years  the  slave  of  agriculture,  or  (still  worse)  of  manufactures,  engaged  in 
raising  a  single  peck  of  corn  from  year  to  year,  or  in  the  monotonous 
labours  of  the  desk — can  hardly  remain  dead  to  the  general  happiness  when 
the  chase  sweeps  past  him  with  hound  and  horn,  and  for  a  moment  feels  all 
the  exultation  of  the  proudest  cavalier  who  partakes  the  amusement.  Let 
any  one  who  has  witnessed  the  sight  recall  to  his  imagination  the  vigour 
and  lively  interest  which  he  has  seen  inspired  into  a  village,  including  the 
oldest  and  feeblest  of  its  inhabitants.  In  the  words  of  Wordsworth,  it  is, 
on  such  occasions, 

“  Up,  Timothy,  up  with  your  staff  and  away. 

Not  a  soul  will  remain  in  the  village  to-day ; 

The  hare  has  just  started  from  Hamilton’s  grounds, 

And  Skiddaw  is  glad  with  the  cry  of  the  hounds.” 


CASTLE  DA  NGEROUS. 


297 


But  compare  these  inspiring  sounds  to  the  burst  of  a  whole  feudal  popula¬ 
tion  enjoying  the  sport,  whose  lives,  instead  of  being  spent  in  the  monoto¬ 
nous  toil  of  modern  avocations,  have  been  agitated  by  the  hazards  of  war, 
and  of  the  chase,  its  near  resemblance,  and  you  must  necessarily  suppose 
that  the  excitation  is  extended,  like  a  fire  which  catches  to  dry  heath.  To 
use  the  common  expression,  borrowed  from  another  amusement,  all  is  fish 
that  comes  in  the  net  on  such  occasions.  An  ancient  hunting-match  (the 
nature  of  the  carnage  excepted)  was  almost  equal  to  a  modern  battle,  when 
the  strife  took  place  on  the  surface  of  a  varied  and  unequal  country.  A 
W'hole  district  poured  forth  its  inhabitants,  who  formed  a  ring  of  great 
extent,  called  technically,  a  tinchel,  and,  advancing  and  narrowing  their 
circle  by  degrees,  drove  before  them  the  alarmed  animals  of  every  kind  ;  all 
and  each  of  which,  as  they  burst  from  the  thicket  or  the  moorland,  were 
objects  of  the  bow,  the  javelin,  or  whatever  missile  weapons  the  hunters 
possessed ;  while  others  were  run  down  and  worried  by  large  greyhounds, 
or  more  frequently  brought  to  bay,  when  the  more  important  persons  present 
claimed  for  themselves  the  pleasure  of  putting  them  to  death  with  their 
chivalrous  hands,  incurring  individually  such  danger  as  is  inferred  from  a 
mortal  contest  even  with  the  timid  buck,  when  he  is  brought  to  the  death- 
struggle,  and  has  no  choice  but  yielding  his  life  or  putting  himself  upon  the 
defensive,  by  the  aid  of  his  splendid  antlers,  and  with  all  the  courage  of 
despair. 

The  quantity  of  game  found  in  Douglas  Dale  on  this  occasion  was  very 
considerable,  for,  as  already  noticed,  it  _was  a  long  time  since  a  hunting 
upon  a  great  scale  had  been  attempted  under  the  Douglasses  themselves, 
whose  misfortunes  had  commenced  several  years  before,  with  those  of  their 
country.  The  English  garrison,  too,  had  not  sooner  judged  themselves 
strong  or  numerous  enough  to  exercise  these  valued  feudal  privileges.  In 
the  meantime,  the  game  increased  considerably.  The  deer,  the  wild  cattle, 
and  the  wild  l3oars,  lay  near  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  and  made  frequent 
irruptions  into  the  lower  part  of  the  valley,  which  in  Douglas  Dale  bears  no 
small  resemblance  to  an  oasis,  surrounded  by  tangled  woods,  and  broken 
moors,  occasionally  rocky,  and  showing  large  tracts  of  that  bleak  dominion 
to  which  wild  creatures  gladly  escape  when  pressed  by  the  neighbourhood 
of  man. 

As  the  hunters  traversed  the  spots  which  separated  the  field  from  the 
wood,  there  was  always  a  stimulating  uncertainty  what  sort  of  game  was  to 
be  found,  and  the  marksman,  with  his  bow  ready  bent,  or  his  javelin  poised, 
and  his  good  and  well-bitted  horse  thrown  upon  its  haunches,  ready  for  a 
sudden  start,  observed  watchfully  what  should  rush  from  the  covert,  so  that, 
were  it  deer,  boar,  wolf,  wild  cattle,  or  any  other  species  of  game,  he  might 
be  in  readiness. 

The  wolf,  which,  on  account  of  its  ravages,  was  the  most  obnoxious  of 
the  beasts  of  prey,  did  not,  however,  supply  the  degree  of  diversion  which 
his  name  promised;  he  usually  fled  far — in  some  instances  many  miles — 
before  he  took  courage  to  turn  to  bay,  and  though  formidable  at  such  mo¬ 
ments,  destroying  both  dogs  and  men  by  his  terrible  bite,  yet  at  other  times 
was  rather  despised  for  his  cowardice.  The  boar,  on  the  other  hand,  was  a 
much  more  irascible  and  courageous  animal. 

The  wild  cattle,  the  most  formidable  of  all  the  tenants  of  the  ancient 
Caledonian  forest,  were,  however,  to  the  English  cavaliers,  by  far  the  most 
interesting  objects  of  pursuit.*  Altogether,  the  ringing  of  bugles,  the 


*  These  Bulls  are  thus  described  by  Hector  Boetius,  concernin?  whom  he  says — “  In  this  wood  (namely  the 
Caledonian  wood)  were  sometime  white  hulls,  with  crisp  and  cnrlins:  manes,  like  fierce  lions;  and  though 
they  seemed  meek  and  tame  m  the  refnanent  figure  of  their  bodies,  they  were  more  wild  than  any  other 
lieasts,  and  had  such  hatred  against  the  society  and  company  of  men,  that  they  never  came  in  the  woods  nor 
lesuries  where  they  found  any  foot  or  hand  thereof,  and  many  days  after  they  eat  not  of  the  herbs  that  were 
touched  or  handled  by  man.  These  bulls  were  so  wild,  that  they  were  never  taken  but  by  slight  and  crafty 
labour,  and  so  impatient,  that  after  they  were  taken  they  died  from  in.snpporlahle  dolour.  As  soon  as  any 
man  invaded  these  bulls,  they  rushed  with  such  terrible  press  upon  liim  that  they  struck  him  to  the  earth. 


298 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS 


clattering  of  horses’  hoofs,  the  lowing  and  bellowing  of  the  enraged  moun¬ 
tain  cattle,  the  sobs  of  deer  mingled  by  throttling  dogs,  the  wild  shouts  of 
exultation  of  the  men, — made  a  chorus  which  extended  far  through  the 
scene  in  which  it  arose,  and  seemed  to  threaten  the  inhabitants  of  the 
valley  even  in  its  inmost  recesses. 

During  the  course  of  the  hunting,  when  a  stag  or  a  boar  was  expected, 
one  of  the  wild  cattle  often  came  rushing  forward,  bearing  down  the  young 
trees,  crashing  the  branches  in  its  progress,  and  in  general  dispersing  what¬ 
ever  opposition  was  presented  to  it  by  the  hunters.  Sir  John  de  Walton 
was  the  only  one  of  the  chivalry  of  the  party  who  individually  succeeded 
in  mastering  one  of  these  powerful  animals.  Like  a  Spanish  tauridor,  he 
bore  down  and  killed  with  his  lance  a  ferocious  bull ;  two  well-grown  calves 
and  three  kine  were  also  slain,  being  unable  to  carry  off  the  quantity  of 
arrows,  javelins,  and  other  missiles,  directed  against  them  by  the  archers 
and  drivers ;  but  many  others,  in  spite  of  every  endeavour  to  intercept 
them,  escaped  to  their  gloomy  haunts  in  the  remote  skirts  of  the  mountain 
called  Cairntable,  with  their  hides  well  feathered  with  those  marks  of  human 
enmity. 

A  large  portion  of  the  morning  was  spent  in  this  way,  until  a  particular 
blast  from  the  master  of  the  hunt  announced  that  he  had  not  forgot  the 
discreet  custom  of  the  repast,  which,  on  such  occasions,  was  provided  for 
upon  a  scale  proportioned  to  the  multitude  who  had  been  convened  to  at¬ 
tend  the  sport. 

The  blast  peculiar  to  the  time,  assembled  the  whole  party  in  an  open 
space  in  a  wood,  where  their  numbers  had  room  and  accommodation  to  sit 
down  upon  the  green  turf,  the  slain  game  affording  a  plentiful  supply  for 
roasting  or  broiling,  an  employment  in  which  the  lower  class  were  all  im¬ 
mediately  engaged ;  while  puncheons  and  pipes,  placed  in  readiness,  and 
scientifically  opened,  supplied  Gascoigne  wine,  and  mighty  ale,  at  the  plea¬ 
sure  of  those  who  chose  to  appeal  to  them. 

The  knights,  whose  rank  did  not  admit  of  interference,  were  seated  by 


taking  no  fear  of  hounds,  sharp  lances,  or  other  most  penetrative  weapons.” — Boetius,  Chron.  Scot.  Vol.  I. 
page  xxxix. 

'I'he  wild  cattle  of  this  breed,  which  are  now  only  known  in  one  manor  in  England,  that  of  Chillingham 
Castle,  in  Northumberland,  (the  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Tankerville,)  were,  in  the  memory  of  man,  still  reserved 
in  three  places  in  Scotland,  namely.  Drumlanrig,  Cumbernauld,  and  the  upper  park  at  Hamilton  Palace,  at 
all  of  which  places,  except  the  last,  I  believe,  they  have  now  been  destroyed,  on  account  of  their  ferocity. 
But  though  those  of  modern  days  are  remarkable  for  their  white  colour,  with  black  muzzles,  and  exhibiting, 
in  a  small  degree,  the  black  mane,  about  three  or  four  inches  long,  by  which  the  bulls  in  particular  are  dis¬ 
tinguished,  they  do  not  by  any  means  come  near  the  terrific  description  given  us  by  the  ancient  authors, 
which  has  made  some  naturalists  think  that  these  animals  should  probably  be  referred  to  a  different  species, 
though  possessing  the  same  general  habits,  and  included  in  the  same  genus.  Phe  bones,  which  are  often 
discovered  in  Scottish  mosses,  belong  certainly  to  a  race  of  animals  much  larger  than  those  of  Chillingham, 
which  seldom  grow  to  above  80  stone  (of  14  lbs.),  the  general  weight  varying  from  60  to  80  stone.  We  should 
be  accounted  very  negligent  by  one  class  of  readers,  did  we  not  record  that  the  beef  furnished  by  those  cattle 
is  of  excellent  flavour,  and  finely  marbled. 

[The  following  is  an  extract  from  a  letter  received  by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  some  time  after  the  publication  of 
the  novel . — 

“  When  it  is  wished  to  kill  any  of  the  cattle  at  Chillingham,  the  keeper  goes  into  the  herd  on  horseback, 
in  which  way  they  are  quite  accessible,  and  singling  out  his  victim,  takes  aim  with  a  large  rifle-gun,  and 
seldom  fails  in  bringing  him  down.  If  the  poor  animal  makes  much  bellowing  in  his  agony,  and  especially 
if  the  ground  be  stained  with  his  blood,  his  companions  become  very  furious,  and  are  themselves,  I  believe, 
accessory  to  his  death.  After  which,  they  fly  off  to  a  distant  part  of  the  park,  and  he  is  drawn  away  on  a 
sledge.  Lord  Tankerville  is  very  tenacious  of  these  singular  animals;  he  will  on  no  account  part  with  a 
living  one.  and  hardly  allows  of  a  sufficient  number  being  killed,  to  leave  pasturage  for  those  that  remain. 

“It  happened  on  one  occasion,  three  or  four  years  ago,  that  a  party  visiting  at  the  castle,  among  whom 
were  some  men  o/uiar,  who  had  hunted  buffaloes  in  foreign  parts,  obtained  permission  to  do  the  keeper’s 
work,  and  shoot  one  of  the  wild  cattle.  They  sallied  out  on  horseback,  and  duly  equipped  for  the  enter¬ 
prise,  attacked  their  object.  The  poor  animal  received  several  wounds,  but  none  of  tliem  proving  fatal,  he 
retired  before  his  pursuers,  roaring  with  pain  and  rage,  till,  planting  himself  against  a  wall  or  tree,  he  stood 
at  bay,  offering  a  front  of  defiance.  In  this  position  the  youthful  heir  of  the  castle.  Lord  Ossulston,  rode  up 
to  give  him  the  fatal  shot.  Though  warned  of  the  danger  of  approaching  near  to  the  enraged  animal,  and 
especially  of  firing  without  first  having  turned  his  horse’s  head  in  a  direction  to  be  ready  for  flight,  he  dis¬ 
charged  his  piece;  but  ere  he  could  turn  his  horse  round  to  make  his  retreat,  the  raging  beast  had  plunged 
his  immense  horns  into  its  flank.  The  horse  staggered  and  was  near  falling,  but  recovering  by  a  violent 
effort,  he  extricated  himself  from  his  infuriated  pursuer,  making  off  with  all  the  speed  his  wasting  strength 
supplied,  his  entrails  meanwhile  dragging  on  the  ground,  till  at  length  he  fell,  and  died  at  the  same  moment. 
The  animal  was  now  close  upon  his  rear,  and  the  young  Lord  would  unquestionably  have  shared  the  fate 
of  his  unhappy  steed,  had  not  the  keeper,  deeming  it  full  time  to  conclude  the  day's  diversion,  fired  at  the 
instant.  His  shot  brought  the  beast  to  the  ground,  and  running  in  with  his  large  knife,  he  put  a  period  to  his 

CXlSt©IlC0. 

“This  scene  of  gentlemanly  pastime  was  viewed  from  a  turret  of  the  castle  by  Lady  Tankerville  and  her 
female  visitors.  Such  a  situation  for  the  mother  of  the  young  hero,  was  anything  but  enviable.”] 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


299 


themselves,  and  ministered  to  by  their  squires  and  pages,  to  whom  such 
menial  services  were  not  accounted  disgraceful,  but,  on  the  contrary,  a 
proper  step  of  their  education.  The  number  of  those  distinguished  persons 
seated  upon  the  present  occasion  at  the  table  of  dais,  as  it  was  called,  (in 
virtue  of  a  canopy  of  green  boughs  with  which  it  was  overshadowed,)  com¬ 
prehended  Sir  John  de  Walton,  Sir  Aymer  de  Valance,  and  some  reverend 
brethren  dedicated  to  the  service  of  Saint  Bride,  who,  though  Scottish 
ecclesiastics,  were  treated  with  becoming  respect  by  the  English  soldiers. 
One  or  two  Scottish  retainers,  or  vavasours, 'maintaining,  perhaps  in  pru¬ 
dence,  a  suitable  deference  to  the  English  knights,  sat  at  the  bottom  of  the 
table,  and  as  many  English  archers,  peculiarly  respected  by  their  superiors, 
were  invited,  according  to  the  modern  phrase,  to  the  honours  of  the  sitting. 

Sir  John  de  Walton  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table;  his  eye,  though  it 
seemed  to  have  no  certain  object,  yet  never  for  a  moment  remained  station¬ 
ary,  but  glanced  from  one  eountenance  to  another  of  the  ring  formed  by  his 
guests,  for  such  they  all  were,  no  doubt,  though  he  himself  could  hardly 
have  told  upon  what  principle  he  had  issued  the  invitations ;  and  even  ap¬ 
parently  was  at  a  loss  to  think  what,  in  one  or  two  cases,  had  procured  him 
the  honour  of  their  presence. 

One  person  in  particular  caught  De  Walton’s  eye,  as  having  the  air  of  a 
redoubted  man-at-arms,  although  it  seemed  as  if  fortune  had  not  of  late 
smiled  upon  his  enterprises.  lie  was  a  tall  raw-boned  man,  of  an  extremely 
rugged  countenance,  and  his  skin,  which  showed  itself  through  many  a 
loophole  in  his  dress,  exhibited  a  complexion  which  must  have  endured  all 
the  varieties  of  an  outlawed  life ;  and  akin  to  one  who  had,  according  to 
the  customary  phrase,  “  ta’en  the  bent  with  Robin  Bruce,”  in  other  words 
occupied  the  moors  with  him  as  an  insurgent.  Some  such  idea  certainly 
crossed  De  Walton’s  mind.  Yet  the  apparent  coolness,  and  absence  of 
alarm,  with  which  the  stranger  sat  at  the  board  of  an  English  officer,  at  the 
same  time  being  wholly  in  his  power,  had  much  in  it  which  was  irrecon¬ 
cilable  with  any  such  suggestion.  De  AValton,  and  several  of  those  about 
him,  had  in  the  course  of  the  day  observed  that  this  tattered  cavalier,  the 
most  remwkable  parts  of  whose  garb  and  equipments  consisted  of  an  old 
coat-of-mail  and  a  rusted  yet  massive  partisan  about  eight  feet  long,  was 
possessed  of  superior  skill  in  the  art  of  hunting  to  any  individual  of  their 
numerous  party.  The  governor  having  looked  at  this  suspicious  figure 
until  he  had  rendered  the  stranger  aware  of  the  special  interest  which  he 
attracted,  at  length  filled  a  goblet  of  choice  wine,  and  requested  him,  as 
one  of  the  best  pupils  of  Sir  Tristem  who  had  attended  upon  the  day’s 
chase,  to  pledge  him  in  a  vintage  superior  to  that  supplied  to  the  general 
company. 

“I  suppose,  however,  sir,”  said  De  Walton,  “you  will  have  no  objections 
to  put  ofi'  my  challenge  of  a  brimmer,  until  you  can  answer  my  pledge  in 
Gascoigne  wine,  which  grew  in  the  king’s  own  demesne,  was  pressed  for 
his  own  lip,  and  is  therefore  fittest  to  be  emptied  to  his  majesty’s  health  and 
prosperity.” 

“  One  half  of  the  island  of  Britain,”  said  the  woodsman,  with  great  com¬ 
posure,  “  will  be  of  your  honour’s  opinion  ;  but  as  I  belong  to  the  other 
half,  even  the  choicest  liquor  in  Gascony  cannot  render  that  health  accept¬ 
able  to  me.” 

A  murmur  of  disapprobation  ran  through  the  warriors  present ;  the 
priests  hung  their  heads,  looked  deadly  grave,  and  muttered  their  pater¬ 
nosters. 

“  You  see,  stranger,”  said  De  Walton  sternly,  “  that  your  speech  discom¬ 
poses  the  company.” 

“  It  may  be  so,”  replied  the  man,  in  the  same  blunt  tone  ;  “  and  it  may 
happen  that  there  is  no  harm  in  the  speech  notwithstanding.” 


# 


300 


WA VEKLEY  NOVELS. 


“Do  you  consider  that  it  is  made  in  my  presence?”  answered  De 
^  Walton. 

“  Yes,  Sir  Governor.” 

“And  have  you  thought  what  must  be  the  necessary  inference?”  con¬ 
tinued  De  Walton. 

“  I  may  form  a  round  guess,”  answered  the  stranger,  “what  I  might  have 
to  fear,  if  your  safe  conduct  and  word  of  honour,  when  inviting  me  to  this 
hunting,  were  less  trustworthy  than  I  know  full  well  it  really  is.  But  I  am 
your  guest — your  meat  is  even  now  passing  my  throat — your  cup,  filled  with 
right  good  wine,  I  have  just  now  quaffed  off — and  I  would  not  fear  the 
rankest  Paynim  infidel,  if  we  stood  in  such  relation  together,  much  less  an 
English  knight.  I  tell  you,  besides.  Sir  Knight,  you  undervalue  the  wine 
we  have  quaffed.  The  high  flavour  and  contents  of  your  cup,  grow  where 
it  will,  give  me  spirit  to  tell  you  one  or  two  circumstances,  which  cold 
cautious  sobriety  would,  in  a  moment  like  this,  have  left  unsaid.  You  wish, 
I  doubt  not,  to  know  who  I  am?  My  Christian  name  is  Michael  —  my  sur¬ 
name  is  that  of  Turnbull,  a  redoubted  clan,  to  whose  honours,  even  in  the 
field  of  hunting  or  of  battle,  I  have  added  something.  My  abode  is  beneath 
the  mountain  of  Bubieslaw,  by  the  fair  streams  of  Teviot.  You  are  sur¬ 
prised  that  I  know  how  to  hunt  the  wild  cattle,  —  I,  who  have  made  them 
my  sport  from  infancy  in  the  lonely  forests  of  Jed  and  Southdean,  and  have 
killed  more  of  them  than  you  or  any  Englishman  in  your  host  ever  saw,  even 
if  you  include  the  doughty  deeds  of  this  day.” 

The  bold  borderer  made  this  declaration  with  the  same  provoking  degree 
of  coolness  which  predominated  in  his  whole  demeanour,  and  was  indeed 
his  principal  attribute.  His  effrontery  did  not  fail  to  produce  its  effect  upon 
Sir  John  De  Walton,  who  instantly  called  out,  “  To  arms  !  to  arms  ! — Secure 
the  spy  and  traitor !  Ho  !  pages  and  yeomen — William,  Anthony,  Bend-the- 
bow,  and  Greenleaf — seize  the  traitor,  and  bind  him  with  your  bow-strings 
and  dog-leashes  —  bind  him,  I  say,  until  the  blood  start  from  beneath  his 
nails !” 

“  Here  is  a  goodly  summons  !”  said  Turnbull,  with  a  sort  of  horselaugh. 
“Were  I  as  sure  of  being  answered  by  twenty  men  I  could  name,  tlfere  would 
be  small  doubt  of  the  upshot  of  this  day.” 

The  archers  thickened  around  the  hunter,  yet  laid  no  hold  on  him,  none 
of  them  being  willing  to  be  the  first  who  broke  the  peace  proper  to  the 
occasion. 

“Tell  me,”  said  De  Walton,  “thou  traitor,  for  what  waitest  thou  here?” 

“  Simply  and  solely,”  said  the  Jed  forester,  “  that  I  may  deliver  up  to  the 
Douglas  the  castle  of  his  ancestors,  and  that  I  may  ensure  thee.  Sir  English¬ 
man,  the  payment  of  thy  deserts,  by  cutting  that  very  throat  which  thou 
makest  such  a  brawling  use  of.” 

At  the  same  time,  perceiving  that  the  yeomen  were  crowding  behind  him 
to  carry  their  lord's  commands  into  execution  so  soon  as  they  should  be 
reiterated,  the  huntsman  turned  himself  short  round  upon  those  who  ap¬ 
peared  about  to  surprise  him,  and  having,  by  the  suddenness  of  the  action, 
induced  them  to  step  back  a  pace,  he  proceeded — “Yes,  John  de  Walton,  my 
purpose  was  ere  now  to  have  put  thee  to  death,  as  one  whom  I  find  in  pos¬ 
session  of  that  castle  and  territory  which  belong  to  my  master,  a  knight 
much  more  worthy  than  thyself ;  but  I  know  not  why  I  have  paused — thou 
hast  given  me  food  when  I  have  hungered  for  twenty-four  hours,  I  have  not 
therefore  had  the  heart  to  pay  thee  at  advantage  as  thou  hast  deserved. 
Begone  from  this  place  and  country,  and  take  the  fair  warning  of  a  foe;  thou 
hast  constituted  thyself  the  mortal  enemy  of  this  people,  and  there  are  those 
among  them  who  have  seldom  been  injured  or  defied  with  impunity.  Take 
no  care  in  searching  after  me,  it  will  be  in  vain,  —  until  I  meet  thee  at  a 
time  which  will  come  at  my  pleasure,  not  thine.  Push  not  your  inquisition' 
into  cruelty,  to  discover  by  what  means  I  have  deceived  you,  for  it  is  impos- 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


301 


sible  for  you  to  learn  ;  and  with  this  friendly  advice,  look  at  me  and  take 
your  leave,  for  although  we  shall  one  day  meet,  it  may  be  long  ere  I  see  you 
again/^ 

l)e  Walton  remained  silent,  hoping  that  his  prisoner,  (for  ho  saw  no 
chance  of  his  escaping,)  might,  in  his  communicative  humour,  drop  some 
more  information,  and  was  not  desirous  to  precipitate  a  fray  with  which  the 
scene  was  likely  to  conclude,  unconscious  at  the  same  time  of  the  advantage 
which  he  thereby  gave  the  daring  hunter. 

As  Turnbull  concluded  his  sentence,  he  made  a  sudden  spring  backwards, 
which  carried  him  out  of  the  circle  formed  around  him,  and  before  they  were 
aware  of  his  intentions,  at  once  disappeared  among  the  underwood. 

“  Seize  him — seize  him  repeated  De  Walton  ;  “  let  us  have  him  at  least 
at  our  discretion,  unless  the  earth  has  actually  swallowed  him.’^ 

This  indeed  appeared  not  unlikely,  for  near  the  place  where  Turnbull 
had  made  the  spring,  there  yawned  a  steep  ravine,  into  which  he  plunged, 
and  descended  by  the  assistance  of  branches,  bushes,  and  copsewood, 
until  he  reached  the  bottom,  where  he  found  some  road  to  the  outskirts  of 
the  forest,  through  which  he  made  his  escape,  leaving  the  most  expert 
woodsmen  among  the  pursuers  totally  at  fault,  and  unable  to  trace  his 
footsteps. 


Cjiaptn  tjii  (Eiglitli. 

This  interlude  carried  some  confusion  into  the  proceedings  of  the  hunt, 
thus  suddenly  surprised  by  the  apparition  of  Michael  Turnbull,  an  armed 
and  avowed  follower  of  the  House  of  Douglas,  a  sight  so  little  to  be  expected 
in  the  territory  where  his  master  was  held  a  rebel  and  a  bandit,  and  where 
he  himself  must  have  been  well  known  to  most  of  the  peasantry  present. 
The  circumstance  made  an  obvious  impression  on  the  English  chivalry. 
Sir  John  de  Walton  looked  grave  and  thoughtful,  ordered  the  hunters  to  be 
assembled  on  the  spot,  and  directed  his  soldiers  to  commence  a  strict  search 
among  the  persons  who  had  attended  the  chase,  so  as  to  discover  whether 
Turnbull  had  any  companions  among  them  ;  but  it  was  too  late  to  make 
that  enquiry  in  the  strict  fashion  which  De  Walton  directed. 

The  Scottish  attendants  on  the  chase,  when  they  beheld  that  the  hunting, 
under  pretence  of  which  they  were  called  together,  was  interrupted  for  the 
purpose  of  laying  hands  upon  their  persons,  and  subjecting  them  to  ex¬ 
amination,  took  care  to  suit  their  answers  to  the  questions  put  to  them  ;  in 
a  word,  they  kept  their  own  secret,  if  they  had  any.  Many  of  them,  con¬ 
scious  of  being  the  weaker  party,  became  afraid  of  foul  play,  slipt  away 
from  the  places  to  which  they  had  been  appointed,  and  left  the  hunting- 
match  like  men  who  conceived  they  had  been  invited  with  no  friendly 
intent.  Sir  John  de  Walton  became  aware  of  the  decreasing  numbers  of 
the  Scottish — their  gradual  disappearance  awakening  in  the  English  knight 
that  degree  of  suspicion  which  had  of  late  become  his  peculiar  character¬ 
istic. 

“  Take,  I  pray  thee,’^  said  he  to  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence,  “  as  many  men- 
at-arms  as  thou  canst  get  together  in  five  minutes^  space,  and  at  least  a 
hundred!  of  the  mounted  archers,  and  ride  as  fast  as  thou  canst,  without 
])ermittiug  them  to  straggle  from  thy  standard,  to  reinforce  the  garrison  of 
l)ouglas  ;  for  I  have  my  own  thoughts  what  may  have  been  attempted  on 
the  castle,  when  we  observe  with  our  own  eyes  such  a  nest  of  traitors  hero 
assembled.'^ 


2a 


302 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


“With  reverence,  Sir  John, replied  Aymer,  “you  shoot  in  this  matter 
rather  beyond  the  mark.  That  the  Scottish  peasants  have  had  bad  thoughts 
against  us,  I  will  be  the  last  to  deny ;  but,  long  debarred  from  any  silvan 
sport,  you  cannot  wonder  at  their  crowding  to  any  diversion  by  wood  or 
river,  and  still  less  at  their  being  easily  alarmed  as  to  the  certainty  of  the 
safe  footing  on  which  they  stand  with  us.  The  least  rough  usage  is  likely 
to  strike  them  with  fear,  and  with  the  desire  of  escape,  and  so’’ - 

“  And  so,”  said  Sir  John  de  Walton,  who  had  listened  with  a  degree  of 
impatience  scarce  consistent  with  the  grave  and  formal  politeness  which 
one  knight  was  accustomed  to  bestow  upon  another,  “  and  so  I  would  rather 
see  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence  busy  his  horse’s  heels  to  execute  my  orders,  than 
give  his  tongue  the  trouble  of  impugning  them.” 

At  this  sharp  reprimand,  all  present  looked  at  each  other  with  indica¬ 
tions  of  marked  displeasure.  Sir  Aymer  was  highly  offended,  but  saw  it 
was  no  time  to  indulge  in  reprisal.  lie  bowed  until  the  feather  which  was 
in  his  barret-cap  mingled  with  his  horse’s  mane,  and  without  reply — for  he 
did  not  even  choose  to  trust  his  voice  in  reply  at  the  moment  —  headed  a 
considerable 
Douglas. 

When  he  came  to  one  of  those  eminences  from  which  he  could  observe 
the  massive  and  complicated  towers  and  walls  of  the  old  fortress,  with  the 
glitter  of  the  broad  lake  which  surrounded  it  on  three  sides,  he  felt  much 
pleasure  at  the  sight  of  the  great  banner  of  England,  which  streamed  from 
the  highest  part  of  the  building.  “  I  knew  it,”  he  internally  said  ;  “  I  was 
certain  that  Sir  John  de  Walton  had  become  a  very  woman  in  the  indul¬ 
gence  of  his  fears  and  suspicions.  Alas !  that  a  situation  of  responsibility 
should  so  much  have  altered  a  disposition  which  I  have  known  so  noble  and 
so  knightly !  By  this  good  day,  I  scarce  know  in  what  manner  I  should 
demean  me  when  thus  publicly  rebuked  before  the  garrison.  Certainly  he 
deserves  that  I  should,  at  some  time  or  other,  let  him  understand,  that  how¬ 
ever  he  may  triumph  in  the  exercise  of  his  short-lived  command,  yet,  when 
man  is  to  meet  with  man,  it  will  puzzle  Sir  John  de  Walton  to  show  him¬ 
self  the  superior  of  Aymer  de  Valence,  or  perhaps  to  establish  himself  as 
his  equal.  But  if,  on  the  contrary,  his  fears,  however  fixntastic,  are  sincere 
at  the  moment  he  expresses  them,  it  becomes  me  to  obey  punctually  com¬ 
mands  which,  however  absurd,  are  imposed  in  consequence  of  the  governor’s 
belief  that  they  are  rendered  necessary  by  the  times,  and  not  inventions 
designed  to  vex  and  domineer  over  his  officers  in  the  indulgence  of  his  offi¬ 
cial  powers.  I  would  I  knew  which  is  the  true  statement  of  the  case,  and 
whether  the  once  famed  De  Walton  is  become  afraid  of  his  enemies  more 
than  fits  a  knight,  or  makes  imaginary  doubts  the  pretext  of  tyrannizing 
over  his  friend.  I  cannot  say  it  would  make  much  difference  to  me,  but  I 
would  rather  have  it  that  the  man  I  once  loved  had  turned  a  petty  tyrant 
than  a  weak-spirited  coward ;  and  I  would  be  content  that  he  should  study 
to  vex  me,  rather  than  be  afraid  of  his  own  shadow.” 

With  these  ideas  passing  in  his  mind,  the  young  knight  crossed  the 
causeway  which  traversed  the  piece  of  water  that  fed  the  moat,  and,  passing 
under  the  strongly  fortified  gateway,  gave  strict  orders  for  letting  down  the 
portcullis,  and  elevating  the  drawbridge,  even  at  the  appearance  of  De 
Walton’s  own  standard  before  it. 

A  slow  and  guarded  movement  from  the  hunting-ground  to  the  Castle  of 
Douglas,  gave  the  governor  ample  time  to  recover  his  temper,  and  to  forget 
that  his  young  friend  had  shown  less  alacrity  than  usual  in  obeying  his 
commands.  He  was  even  disposed  to  treat  as  a  jest  the  length  of  time  and 
exti’eme  degree  of  ceremony  with  which  every  point  of  martial  discipline 
was  observed  on  his  own  re-admission  to  the  castle,  though  the  raw  air  of  a 
wet  spring  evening  whistled  around  his  own  unsheltered  person,  and  those 
of  his  followers,  as  they  waited  before  the  castle  gate  for  the  exchange  of 


body  of  cavalry  by  the  straightest  road  back  to  the  Castle  of 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS.  303 

pass-words,  the  delivery  of  keys,  and  all  the  slow  minutiae  attendant  upon 
the  movements  of  a  garrison  in  a  well-guarded  fortress. 

“  Come,''  said  he  to  an  old  knight,  who  was  peevishly  blaming  the  lieu¬ 
tenant-governor,  “  it  was  my  own  fault ;  I  spoke  but  now  to  Aymer  de 
Valence  with  more  authoritative  emphasis  than  his  newly-dubbed  dignity 
was  pleased  with,  and  this  precise  style  of  obedience  is  a  piece  of  not  un¬ 
natural  and  very  pardonable  revenge.  Well,  we  will  owe  him  a  return.  Sir 
Philip — shall  we  not?  This  is  not  a  night  to  keep  a  man  at  the  gate.’’ 

This  dialogue,  overheard  by  some  of  the  squires  and  pages,  was  bandied 
about  from  one  to  another,  until  it  entirely  lost  the  tone  of  good-humour  in 
which  it  was  spoken,  and  the  offence  was  one  for  which  Sir  John  de  Walton 
and  old  Sir  Philip  were  to  meditate  revenge,  and  was  said  to  have  been 
represented  by  the  governor  as  a  piece  of  mortal  and  intentional  offence  on 
the  part  of  his  subordinate  officer. 

Thus  an  increasing  feud  went  on  from  day  to  day  between  two  warriors, 
who,  with  no  just  cause  of  quarrel,  had  at  heart  every  reason  to  esteem  and 
love  each  other.  It  became  visible  in  the  fortress  even  to  those  of  the  lower 
rank,  who  hoped  to  gain  some  consequence  by  intermingling  in  the  species 
of  emulation  produced  by  the  jealousy  of  the  commanding  officers  —  an 
emulation  which  may  take  place,  indeed,  in  the  present  day,  but  can  hardly 
have  the  same  sense  of  wounded  pride  and  jealous  dignity  attached  to  it, 
which  existed  in  times  when  the  personal  honour  of  knighthood  rendered 
those  who  possessed  it  jealous  of  every  punctilio. 

So  many  little  debates  took  place  between  the  two  knights,  that  Sir  Aymer 
de  Valence  thouglit  himself  under  the  necessity  of  writing  to  his  uncle  and 
namesake,  the  Earl  of  Pembroke,  stating  that  his  officer.  Sir  John  de  Walton, 
had  unfortunately  of  late  take'n  some  degree  of  prejudice  against  him,  and 
that  after  having  borne  with  many  provoking  instances  of  his  displeasure, 
he  was  now  compelled  to  request  that  his  place  of  service  should  be  changed 
from  the  Castle  of  Douglas,  to  wherever  honour  could  be  acquired,  and  time 
might  be  given  to  put  an  end  to  his  present  cause  of  complaint  against  his 
commanding  officer.  Through  the  whole  letter,  young  Sir  Aymer  was  parti¬ 
cularly  cautious  how  he  expressed  his  sense  of  Sir  John  de  W alton’s  jealousy 
or  severe  usage ;  but  such  sentiments  are  not  easily  concealed,  and  in  spite 
of  him  an  air  of  displeasure  glanced  out  from  several  passages,  and  indicated 
his  discontent  with  his  uncle’s  old  friend  and  companion  in  arms,  and  with 
the  sphere  of  military  duty  which  his  uncle  had  himself  assigned  him. 

An  accidental  movement  among  the  English  troops  brought  Sir  Aymer 
an  answer  to  his  letter  sooner  than  he  could  have  hoped  for  at  that  time  of 
day,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  correspondence,  which  was  then  extremely 
slow  and  interrupted. 

Pembroke,  a  rigid  old  warrior,  entertained  the  most  partial  opinion  of  Sir 
John  de  Walton,  who  was  a  work  as  it  were  of  his  own  hands,  and  was 
indignant  to  find  that  his  nephew,  whom  he  considered  as  a  mere  boy, 
elated  by  having  had  the  dignity  of  knighthood  conferred  upon  him  at  an 
age  unusually  early,  did  not  absolutely  coincide  with  him  in  this  opinion, 
lie  replied  to  him,  accordingly,  in  a  tone  of  high  displeasure,  and  expressed 
himself  as  a  person  of  rank  would  write  to  a  young  and  dependent  kinsman 
upon  the  duties  of  his  profession  ;  and,  as  he  gathered  his  nephew’s  cause 
of  complaint  from  his  own  letter,  he  conceived  that  he  did  him  no  injustice 
in  making  it  slighter  than  it  really  was.  He  reminded  the  young  man  that 
the  study  of  chivalry  consisted  in  the  faithful  and  patient  discharge  of  mili¬ 
tary  service,  whether  of  high  or  low  degree,  according  to  the  circumstances 
in  which  war  placed  the  champion.  That  above  all,  the  post  of  danger, 
which  Douglas  Castle  had  been  termed  by  common  consent,  was  also  the 
post  of  honour ;  and  that  a  young  man  should  be  cautious  how  he  incurred 
the  supposition  of  being  desirous  of  quitting  his  present  honourable  com¬ 
mand,  because  he  was  tired  of  the  discipline  of  a  military  director  so 


304 


WAVE  11  LEY  NOVELS. 


renowned  as  Sir  John  de  Walton.  Much  also  there  was,  as  was  natural  in 
a  letter  of  that  time,  concerning  the  duty  of  young  men,  whether  in  council 
or  in  arms,  to  be  guided  implicitly  by  their  elders ;  and  it  was  observed, 
with  justice,  that  the  commanding  officer,  who'  had  put  himself  into  the 
situation  of  being  responsible  with  his  honour,  if  not  his  life,  for  the  event 
of  the  siege  or  blockade,  might,  justly,  and  in  a  degree  more  than  common, 
claim  the  implicit  direction  of  the  whole  defence.  Lastly,  Pembroke  re¬ 
minded  his  nephew  that  he  was,  in  a  great  measure,  dependent  upon  the 
report  of  Sir  John  de  Walton  for  the  character  which  he  was  to  sustain  in 
after  life ;  and  reminded  him,  that  a  few  actions  of  headlong  and  incon¬ 
siderate  valour  would  not  so  firmly  found  his  military  reputation,  as  months 
and  years  spent  in  regular,  humble,  and  steady  obedience  to  the  commands 
which  the  governor  of  Douglas  Castle  might  think  necessary  in  so  dangerous 
a  conjuncture. 

This  missive  arrived  within  so  short  a  time  after  the  despatch  of  the  letter 
to  which  it  was  a  reply,  that  Sir  Aymer  was  almost  tempted  to  suppose  that 
his  uncle  had  some  mode  of  corresponding  with  De  Walton,  unknown  to 
the  young  knight  himself,  and  to  the  rest  of  the  garrison.  And  as  the  earl 
alluded  to  some  particular  displeasure  which  had  been  exhibited  by  De 
Valence  on  a  late  trivial  occasion,  his  uncle’s  knowledge  of  this,  and  other 
minutise,  seemed  to  confirm  his  idea  that  his  own  conduct  was  watched  in  a 
manner  which  he  did  not  feel  honourable  to  himself,  or  dignified  on  the  part 
of  his  relative ;  in  a  word,  he  conceived  himself  exposed  to  that  sort  of 
surveillance  of  which,  in  all  ages,  the  young  have  accused  the  old.  It  hardly 
needs  to  say  that  the  admonition  of  the  Earl  of  Pembroke  greatly  chafed 
the  fiery  spirit  of  his  nephew ;  insomuch,  that  if  the  earl  had  wished  to 
write  a  letter  purposely  to  increase  the  prejudices  which  he  desired  to  put 
an  end  to,  he  could  not  have  made  use  of  terms  better  calculated  for  that 
effect. 

The  truth  was,  that  the  old  archer,  Gilbert  Greenleaf,  had,  without  the 
knowledge  of  the  young  knight,  gone  to  Pembroke’s  camp,  in  Ayrshire,  and 
was  recommended  by  Sir  John  de  Walton  to  the  earl,  as  a  person  who  could 
give  such  minute  information  respecting  Aymer  de  Valence,  as  he  might 
desire  to  receive.  The  old  archer  was,  as  we  have  seen,  a  formalist,  and 
when  pressed  on  some  points  of  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence’s  discipline,  he  did 
not  hesitate  to  throw  out  hints,  which,  connected  with  those  in  the  knight’s 
letter  to  his  uncle,  made  the  severe  old  earl  adopt  too  implicitly  the  idea 
that  his  nephew  was  indulging  a  spirit  of  insubordination,  and  a  sense  of 
impatience  under  authority,  most  dangerous  to  the  character  of  a  young 
soldier.  A  little  explanation  might  have  produced  a  complete  agreement 
in  the  sentiments  of  both ;  but  for  this,  fate  allowed  neither  time  nor  oppor¬ 
tunity  ;  and  the  old  earl  was  unfortunately  induced  to  become  a  party, 
instead  of  a  negotiator,  in  the  quarrel, 

“And  by  decision  more  embroil’d  the  fray.” 

Sir  John  de  Walton  soon  perceived,  that  the  receipt  of  Pembroke’s  letter 
did  not  in  any  respect  alter  the  cold  ceremonious  conduct  of  his  lieutenant 
towards  him,  which  limited  their  intercourse  to  what  their  situation  ren¬ 
dered  indispensable,  and  exhibited  no  advances  to  any  more  frank  or  inti¬ 
mate  connexion.  Thus,  as  may  sometimes  be  the  case  between  officers  in 
their  relative  situations  even  at  the  present  day,  they  remained  in  that  cold 
stiff  degree  of  official  communication,  in  which  their  intercourse  was  limited 
to  as  few  expressions  as  the  respective  duties  of  their  situation  absolutely 
demanded.  Such  a  state  of  misunderstanding  is,  in  fact,  worse  than  a 
downright  quarrel ;  —  the  latter  may  be  explained  or  apologized  for,  or 
become  the  subject  of  mediation  ;  but  in  such  a  case  as  the  former,  an 
eclaircissement  is  as  unlikely  to  take  place  as  a  general  engagement  between 
two  armies  which  have  taken  up  strong  defensive  positions  on  both  sides. 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


305 


Duty,  however,  obliged  the  two  principal  persona  in  the  garrison  of  Douglas 
Castle  to  be  often  together,  when  they  were  so  far  from  seeking  an  oppor¬ 
tunity  of  making  up  matters,  that  they  usually  revived  ancient  subjects  of 
debate. 

It  was  upon  such  an  occasion  that  De  Walton,  in  a  very  formal  manner, 
asked  De  Valence  in  what  capacity,  and  for  how  long  time,  it  was  his 
pleasure  that  the  minstrel,  called  Bertram,  should  remain  at  the  castle. 

“  A  week,^^  said  the  governor,  “  is  certainly  long  enough,  in  this  time  and 
place,  to  express  the  hospitality  due  to  a  minstrel.’^ 

“  Certainly,'^  replied  the  young  man,  “  I  have  not  interest  enough  in  the 
subject  to  form  a  single  wish  upon  it.'' 

“In  that  case,^’  resumed  De  Walton,  “I  shall  request  of  this  person  to 
cut  short  his  visit  at  the  Castle  of  Douglas.^’ 

“  I  know  no  particular  interest,’^  replied  Aymer  de  Valence,  “  which  I 
can  possibly  have  in  this  man’s  motions.  He  is  here  under  pretence  of 
making  some  researches  after  the  writings  of  Thomas  of  Erceldoun,  called 
the  Rhymer,  Avhich  he  says  are  infinitely  curious,  and  of  which  there  is  a 
volume  in  the  old  Baron’s  study,  saved  somehow  from  the  flames  at  the  last 
conflagration.  This  told,  you  know  as  much  of  his  errand  as  I  do ;  and  if 
you  hold  the  presence  of  a  wandering  old  man,  and  the  neighbourhood  of  a 
boy,  dangerous  to  the  castle  under  your  charge,  you  will  no  doubt  do  well 
to  dismiss  them — it  will  cost  but  a  word  of  your  mouth.” 

“Pardon  me,”  said  De  Walton;  “the  minstrel  came  here  as  one  of  your 
retinue,  and  I  could  not,  in  fitting  courtesy,  send  him  away  without  your 
leave.” 

“  I  am  sorry,  then,”  answered  Sir  Aymer,  “  in  my  turn,  that  you  did  not 
mention  your  purpose  sooner.  I  never  entertained  a  dependent,  vassal  or 
servant,  whose  residence  in  the  castle  I  would  wish  to  have  prolonged  a 
moment  beyond  your  honourable  pleasure.” 

“  I  am  sorry,”  said  Sir  John  de  Walton,  “that  we  two  have  of  late  grown 
so  extremely  courteous  that  it  is  difficult  for  us  to  understand  each  other. 
This  minstrel  and  his  son  come  from  we  know  not  where,  and  are  bound  we 
know  not  whither.  There  is  a  report  among  some  of  your  escort,  that  this 
fellow  Bertram  upon  the  way  had  the  audacity  to  impugn,  even  to  your  face, 
the  King  of  England’s  right  to  the  crown  of  Scotland,  and  that  he  debated 
the  point  with  you,  while  your  other  attendants  were  desired  by  you  to  keep 
behind  and  out  of  hearing.” 

“  Hah  !”  said  Sir  Aymer,  “  do  you  mean  to  found  on  that  circumstance 
any  charge  against  my  loyalty  ?  I  pray  you  to  observe,  that  such  an  aver¬ 
ment  would  touch  mine  honour,  which  I  am  ready  and  willing  to  defend  to 
the  last  gasp.” 

“No  doubt  of  it.  Sir  Knight,”  answered  the  governor;  “but  it  is  the 
strolling  minstrel,  and  not  the  high-born  English  knight,  against  whom  the 
charge  is  brought.  Well!  the  minstrel  comes  to  this  castle,  and  he  inti¬ 
mates  a  wish  that  his  son  should  be  allowed  to  take  up  his  quarters  at  the 
little  old  convent  of  Saint  Bride,  where  two  or  three  Scottish  nuns  and 
friars  are  still  permitted  to  reside,  most  of  them  rather  out  of  respect  to 
their  order,  than  for  any  good  will  M’hich  they  are  supposed  to  bear  the 
English  or  their  sovereign.  It  may  also  be  noticed  that  his  leave  was  pur¬ 
chased  by  a  larger  sum  of  money,  if  my  information  be  correct,  than  is 
usually  to  be  found  in  the  purses  of  travelling  minstrels,  a  class  of  wan¬ 
derers  alike  remarkable  for  their  poverty  and  for  their  genius.  What  do 
you  think  of  all  this  ?” 

“  I  ?” — replied  De  Valence  ;  “  I  am  happy  that  my  situation,  as  a  soldier, 
under  command,  altogether  dispenses  with  my  thinking  of  it  at  all.  My 
post,  as  lieutenant  of  your  castle,  is  such,  that  if  I  can  manage  matters  so 
as  to  call  my  honour  and  my  soul  my  own,  I  must  think  that  quite  enough 

VoL.  XII.  — 20  2a2 


306 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


of  free-will  is  left  at  my  command  ;  and  I  promise  you  shall  not  have  again 
to  reprove,  or  send  a  bad  report  of  me  to  my  uncle,  on  that  account/’ 

“This  is  beyond  sufferance!”  said  Sir  John  de  Walton  half  aside,  and 
then  proceeded  aloud— “  Do  not,  for  Heaven’s  sake,  do  yourself  and  me  the 
injustice  of  supposing  that  I  am  endeavouring  to  gain  an  advantage  over 
you  by  these  questions.  Recollect,  young  knight,  that  when  you  evade 
giving  your  commanding  officer  your  advice  when  required,  you  fail  as  much 
in  point  of  duty,  as  if  you  declined  affording  him  the  assistance  of  your 
sword  and  lance.” 

“  Such  being  the  case,”  answered  De  Valence,  “let  me  know  plainly  on 
what  matter  it  is  that  you  require  my  opinion  ?  I  will  deliver  it  plainly,  and 
stand  by  the  result,  even  if  I  should  have  the  misfortune  (a  crime  unpar¬ 
donable  in  so  young  a  man,  and  so  inferior  an  officer)  to  differ  from  that  of 
Sir  John  de  Walton.” 

“  I  would  ask  you  then,  Sir  Knight  of  Valence,”  answered  the  governor, 
“  what  is  your  opinion  with  respect  to  this  minstrel,  Bertram,  and  whether 
the  suspicions  respecting  him  and  his  son  are  not  such  as  to  call  upon 
me,  in  performance  of  my  duty,  to  put  them  to  a  close  examination,  with 
the  question  ordinary  and  extraordinary,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  and 
to  expel  them  not  only  from  the  castle,  but  from  the  whole  territory  of 
Douglas  Dale,  under  pain  of  scourging,  if  they  be  again  found  wandering 
in  these  parts  ?” 

“  You  ask  me  my  opinion,”  said  De  Valence,  “  and  you  shall  have  it.  Sir 
Knight  of  Walton,  and  freely  and  fairly,  as  if  matters  stood  betwixt  us  on 
a  footing  as  friendly  as  they  ever  did.  I  agree  with  you,  that  most  of  those 
who  in  this  day  profess  the  science  of  minstrelsy,  are  altogether  unqualified 
to  support  the  higher  pretensions  of  that  noble  order.  Minstrels  by  right, 
are  men  who  have  dedicated  themselves  to  the  noble  occupation  of  cele¬ 
brating  knightly  deeds  and  generous  principles ;  it  is  in  their  verse  that  the 
valiant  knight  is  handed  down  to  fame,  and  the  poet  has  a  right,  nay  is 
bound,  to  emulate  the  virtues  which  he  praises.  The  looseness  of  the  times 
has  diminished  the  consequence,  and  impaired  the  morality  of  this  class  of 
wanderers  ;  their  satire  and  their  praise  are  now  too  often  distributed  on  no 
other  principle  than  love  of  gain  ;  yet  let  us  hope  that  there  are  still  among 
them  some  who  know,  and  also  willingly  perform,  their  duty.  My  own 
opinion  is  that  this  Bertram  holds  himself  as  one  who  has  not  shared  in 
the  degradation  of  his  brethren,  nor  bent  the  knee  to  the  mammon  of  the 
times  ;  it  must  remain  with  you,  sir,  to  judge  whether  such  a  person, 
honourably  and  morally  disposed,  can  cause  any  danger  to  the  Castle  of 
Douglas.  But  believing,  from  the  sentiments  he  has  manifested  to  me,  that 
he  is  incapable  of  playing  the  part  of  a  traitor,  I  must  strongly  remonstrate 
against  his  being  punished  as  one,  or  subjected  to  the  torture  within  the 
walls  of  an  English  garrison.  I  should  blush  for  my  country,  if  it  required 
of  us  to  inflict  such  wanton  misery  upon  wanderers,  whose  sole  fault  is 
poverty;  and  your  own  knightly  sentiments  will  suggest  more  than  would 
become  me  to  state  to  Sir  John  de  Walton,  unless  in  so  far  as  is  necessary 
to  apologize  for  retaining  my  own  opinion.” 

Sir  John  de  Walton’s  dark  brow  was  stricken  with  red  when  he  heard  an 
opinion  delivered  in  opposition  to  his  own,  which  plainly  went  to  stigmatize 
his  advice  as  ungenerous,  unfeeling,  and  unknightly.  lie  made  an  effort  to 
preserve  his  temper  while  he  thus  replied  with  a  degree  of  calmness.  “  You 
have  given  your  opinion.  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence;  and  that  you  have  given 
it  openly  and  boldly,  without  regard  to  my  own,  I  thank  you.  It  is  not 
quite  so  clear  that  I  am  obliged  to  defer  my  own  sentiments  to  yours,  in 
case  the  rules  on  which  I  hold  my  office — the  commands  of  the  king — and 
the  observations  which  I  may  personally  have  made,  shall  recommend  to 
me  a  different  line  of  conduct  from  that  which  you  think  it  right  to  suggest.” 

De  Walton  bowed,  in  conclusion,  with  great  gravity  ;  and  the  young  knight, 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


307 


returning  the  reverence  with  exactly  the  same  degree  of  stiff  fornialitv, 
asked  wliether  there  were  any  particular  orders  respecting  his  duty  in  the 
castle ;  and  having  received  an  answer  in  the  negative  took  his  departure. 

Sir  John  do  Walton,  after  an  expression  of  impatience,  as  if  disappointed 
at  finding  that  the  advance  which  he  had  made  towards  an  explanation  with 
his  young  friend  had  proved  unexpectedly  abortive,  composed  his  brow  as 
if  to  deep  thought,  and  walked  several  times  to  and  fro  in  the  apartment, 
considering  what  course  he  was  to  take  in  these  circumstances.  “  It  is  hard 
to  censure  him  severely,’’  he  said,  “  when  I  recollect  that,  on  first  entering 
upon  life,  my  own  thoughts  and  feelings  would  have  been  the  same  with 
those  of  this  giddy  and  hot-headed,  but  generous  boy.  Now  prudence 
teaches  me  to  suspect  mankind  in  a  thousand  instances  where  perhaps  there 
is  not  sufficient  ground.  If  I  am  disposed  to  venture  my  own  honour  and 
fortune,  rather  than  an  idle  travelling  minstrel  should  suffer  a  little  pain, 
which  at  all  events  I  might  make  up  to  him  by  money,  still,  have  I  a  right 
to  run  the  risk  of  a  conspiracy  against  the  king,  and  thus  advance  the 
treasonable  surrender  of  the  Castle  of  Douglas,  for  vrhich  I  know  so  many 
schemes  are  formed  ;  for  which,  too,  none  can  be  imagined  so  desperate  but 
agents  will  be  found  bold  enough  to  undertake  the  execution  ?  A  man  who 
holds  my  situation,  although  the  slave  of  conscience,  ought  to  learn  to  set 
aside  those  false  scruples  which  assume  the  appearance  of  flowing  from  our 
own  moral  feeling,  whereas  they  are  in  fact  instilled  by  the  suggestion  of 
affected  delicacy.  I  will  not,  I  swear  by  Heaven,  be  infected  by  the  follies 
of  a  boy,  such  as  Aymer ;  I  wnll  not,  that  I  may  defer  to  his  caprices,  lose 
all  that  love,  honour,  and  ambition  can  propose,  for  the  reward  of  twelve 
months’  service,  of  a  nature  the  most  watchful  and  unpleasant.  I  will  go 
straight  to  my  point,  and  use  the  ordinary  precautions  in  Scotland  which  I 
should  employ  in  Normandy  or  Gascoigny. — What  ho!  page!  who  waits 
there  ?” 

One  of  his  attendants  replied  to  his  summons  —  “Seek  me  out  Gilbert 
Greenleaf  the  archer,  and  tell  him  I  would  speak  with  him  touching  the 
two  bow’s  and  the  sheaf  of  arrows,  concerning  which  I  gave  him  a  commis¬ 
sion  to  Ayr.” 

A  few  minutes  intervened  after  the  order  was  given,  when  the  archer 
entered,  holding  in  his  hand  two  bow-staves,  not  yet  fashioned,  and  a  num¬ 
ber  of  arrows  secured  together  with  a  thong.  He  bore  the  mysterious  looks 
of  one  whose  apparent  business  is  not  of  very  great  consequence,  but  is 
meant  as  a  passport  for  other  affairs  which  are  in  themselves  of  a  secret 
nature.  Accordingly,  as  the  knight  was  silent,  and  afforded  no  other  open¬ 
ing  for  Greenleaf,  that  judicious  negotiator  proceeded  to  enter  upon  such  as 
was  open  to  him. 

“Here  are  the  bow-staves,  noble  sir,  which  you  desired  me  to  obtain  while 
I  was  at  Ayr  with  the  Earl  of  Pembroke’s  army.  They  are  not  so  good  as 
I  could  have  wished,  yet  are  perhaps  of  better  quality  than  could  have  been 
procured  by  any  other  than  a  fair  judge  of  the  weapon.  The  Earl  of  Pem¬ 
broke’s  whole  camp  are  frantic  mad  in  order  to  procure  real  Spanish  staves 
from  the  Groyne,  and  other  ports  in  Spain  ;  but  though  two  vessels  laden 
with  such  came  into  the  port  of  Ayr,  said  to  be  for  the  King’s  army,  yet  I 
believe  never  one  half  of  them  have  come  into  English  hands.  These  two 
grew  in  Sherwood,  w'hich  having  been  seasoned  since  the  time  of  Robin 
Hood,  are  not  likely  to  fail  either  in  strength  or  in  aim,  in  so  strong  a  hand, 
and  with  so  just  an  eye,  as  those  of  the  men  who  wait  on  your  worship.” 

“  And  who  has  got  the  rest,  since  two  ships’  cargoes  of  new  bow-staves 
are  arrived  at  Ayr,  and  thou  with  difficulty  hast  only  procured  me  two  old 
ones  ?”  said  the  governor. 

“  Faith,  I  pretend  not  skill  enough  to  know,”  answered  Greenleaf,  shrug¬ 
ging  his  shoulders.  “Talk  there  is  of  plots  in  that  country  as  well  as  here. 
It  is  said  that  their  Bruce,  and  the  rest  of  his  kinsmen,  intend  a  new  May- 


308 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


game,  and  that  the  outlawed  king  proposes  to  land  near  Turnberry,  early 
in  summer,  with  a  number  of  stout  kernes  from  Ireland ;  and  no  doubt  the 
men  of  his  mock  earldom  of  Garrick  are  getting  them  ready  with  bow  and 
spear  for  so  hopeful  an  undertaking.  I  reckon  that  it  will  not  cost  us  the 
expense  of  more  than  a  few  score  of  sheaves  of  arrows  to  put  all  that  matter 
to  rights.'^ 

“  Do  you  talk  then  of  conspiracies  in  this  part  of  the  country.  Green- 
leaf?’^  said  De  Walton.  “I  know  you  are  a  sagacious  fellow,  well  bred  for 
many  a  day  to  the  use  of  the  bent  stick  and  string,  and  will  not  allow  such 
a  practice  to  go  on  under  thy  nose,  without  taking  notice  of  it.” 

“  I  am  old  enough.  Heaven  knows,”  said  Greenleaf,  “  and  have  had  good 
experience  of  these  Scottish  wars,  and  know  well  whether  these  native  Scots 
are  a  people  to  be  trusted  to  by  knight  or  yeoman.  Say  they  are  a  false  gene¬ 
ration,  and  say  a  good  archer  told  you  so,  who,  with  a  fair  aim,  seldom  missed 
a  handsbreadth  of  the  white.  Ah!  sir,  your  honour  knows  how  to  deal  with 
them  —  ride  them  strongly,  and  rein  them  hard, — you  are  not  like  those 
simple  novices  who  imagine  that  all  is  to  be  done  by  gentleness,  and  wish 
to  parade  themselves  as  courteous  and  generous  to  those  faithless  mountain¬ 
eers,  who  never,  in  the  course  of  their  lives,  knew  any  tincture  either  of 
courteousness  or  generosity.” 

“  Thou  alludest  to  some  one,”  said  the  governor,  “  and  I  charge  thee, 
Gilbert,  to  be  plain  and  sincere  with  me.  Thou  knowest,  methinks,  that  in 
trusting  me  thou  wilt  come  to  no  harm  ?” 

“  It  is  true,  it  is  true,  sir,”  said  the  old  remnant  of  the  wars,  carrying  his 
hand  to  his  brow,  “  but  it  were  imprudent  to  communicate  all  the  remarks 
which  float  through  an  old  man’s  brain  in  the  idle  moments  of  such  a  garri¬ 
son  as  this.  One  stumbles  unawares  on  fantasies,  as  well  as  realities,  and 
thus  one  gets,  not  altogether  undeservedly,  the  character  of  a  tale-bearer 
and  mischief-maker  among  his  comrades,  and  methinks  I  would  not  will¬ 
ingly  fall  under  that  accusation.” 

“Speak  frankly  to  me,”  answered  De  Walton,  “and  have  no  fear  of  being 
misconstrued,  whosoever  the  conversation  may  concern.” 

,  “Nay,  in  plain  truth,”  answered  Gilbert,  “I  fear  not  the  greatness  of 
this  young  knight,  being,  as  I  am,  the  oldest  soldier  in  the  garrison,  and 
having  drawn  a  bow-string  long  and  many  a  day  ere  he  W'as  weaned  from 
his  nurse’s  breast.” 

“  It  is,  then,”  said  De  Walton,  “  my  lieutenant  and  friend,  Aymer  de 
Valence,  at  whom  your  suspicions  point?” 

“  At  nothing,”  replied  the  archer,  “  touching  the  honour  of  the  young 
knight  himself,  who  is  as  brave  as  the  sword  he  wears,  and,  his  youth  con¬ 
sidered,  stands  high  in  the  roll  of  English  chivalry  ;  but  he  is  young,  as 
your  worship  knows,  and  I  own  that  in  the  choice  of  his  company  he  dis¬ 
turbs  and  alarms  me.” 

“Why,  you  know,  Greenleaf,”  answered  the  governor,  “that  in  the  leisure 
of  a  garrison  a  knight  cannot  always  confine  his  sports  and  pleasures  among 
those  of  his  own  rank,  who  are  not  numerous,  and  may  not  be  so  gamesome 
or  fond  of  frolic,  as  he  would  desire  them  to  be.” 

“  I  know  that  well,”  answered  the  archer,  “  nor  would  I  say  a  word  con¬ 
cerning  your  honour’s  lieutenant  for  joining  any  honest  fellows,  however 
inferior  their  rank,  in  the  wrestling  ring,  or  at  a  bout  of  quarterstaff.  But 
if  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence  has  a  fondness  for  martial  tales  of  former  day8,,me- 
thinks  he  had  better  learn  them  from  the  ancient  soldiers  who  have  followed 
Edward  the  First,  whom  God  assoilzie,  and  who  have  known  before  his  time 
the  Barons’  wars  and  other  onslaughts,  in  which  the  knights  and  archers 
of  merry  England  transmitted  so  many  gallant  actions  to  be  recorded  by 
fame ;  this  truly,  I  say,  were  more  beseeming  the  Earl  of  Pembroke’s 
nephew,  than  to  see  him  closet  himself  day  after  day  with  a  strolling  min¬ 
strel,  who  gains  his  livelihood  by  reciting  nonsense  and  lies  to  such  young 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


309 


men  as  are  fond  enough  to  believe  him,  of  whom  hardly  any  one  knows 
wdiether  he  be  English  or  Scottish  in  his  opinions,  and  still  less  can  any  one 
pretend  to  say  whether  he  is  of  English  or  Scottish  birth,  or  with  what 
purpose  he  lies  lounging  about  this  castle,  and  is  left  free  to  communicate 
every  thing  which  passes  within  it  to  those  old  mutterers  of  matins  at  St. 
Bride’s,  wdio  say  with  their  tongues  God  save  King  Edward,  but  pray  in 
their  hearts  God  save  King  Robert  the  Bruce.  Such  a  communication  ho 
can  easily  carry  on  by  means  of  his  son,  who  lies  at  Saint  Bride’s  cell,  as 
your  worship  knows,  under  pretence  of  illness.” 

“How  do  you  say?”  exclaimed  the  governor,  “under  pretence?  —  is  ho 
not  then  really  indisposed  ?” 

“Nay,  he  may  be  sick  to  the  death  for  aught  I  know,”  said  the  archer; 
“  but  if  so,  w^ere  it  not  then  more  natural  that  the  father  should  attend  his 
son’s  sick-bed,  than  that  he  should  be  ranging  about  this  castle,  where  one 
eternally  meets  him  in  the  old  Baron’s  study,  or  in  some  corner,  where  you 
least  expect  to  find  him  ?” 

“  If  he  has  no  lawful  object,”  replied  the  knight,  “  it  might  be  as  you 
say ;  but  ho  is  said  to  be  in  quest  of  ancient  poems  or  prophecies  of  Merlin, 
of  the  Rhymer,  or  some  other  old  bard ;  and  in  truth  it  is  natural  for  him 
to  wish  to  enlarge  his  stock  of  knowledge  and  power  of  giving  amusement, 
and  where  should  he  find  the  means  save  in  a  study  filled  with  ancient 
books  ?” 

“No  doubt,”  replied  the  archer,  with  a  sort  of  dry  civil  sneer  of  incre¬ 
dulity;  “I  have  seldom  known  an  insurrection  in  Scotland  but  that  it  was 
prophesied  by  some  old  forgotten  rhyme,  conjured  out  of  dust  and  cobwebs, 
for  the  sake  of  giving  courage  to  these  North  Country  rebels,  who  durst  not 
otherwise  have  abidden  the  whistling  of  the  grey-goose  shaft ;  but  curled 
heads  are  hasty,  and,  wdth  license,  even  your  own  train.  Sir  Knight,  retains 
too  much  of  the  fire  of  youth  for  such  uncertain  times  as  the  present.” 

“  Thou  hast  convinced  me,  Gilbert  Greenleaf,  and  I  will  look  into  this 
man’s  business  and  occupation  more  closely  than  hitherto.  This  is  no  time 
to  peril  the  safety  of  a  royal  castle  for  the  sake  of  alfecting  generosity 
towards  a  man  of  wdiom  we  know  so  little,  and  to  whom,  till  we  receive  a 
very  full  explanation,  we  may,  without  doing  him  injustice,  attach  grave 
suspicions.  Is  he  now  in  the  apartment  called  the  Baron’s  study?” 

“  Your  worship  will  be  certain  to  find  him  there,”  replied  Greenleaf. 

“  Then  follow  me,  with  two  or  three  of  thy  comrades,  and  keep  out  of 
sight,  but  within  hearing ;  it  may  be  necessary  to  arrest  this  man.” 

“  My  assistance,”  said  the  old  archer,  “  shall  be  at  hand  wdien  you  call, 
but” - 

“  But  what?”  said  the  knight;  “  I  hope  I  am  not  to  find  doubts  and  dis¬ 
obedience  on  all  hands?” 

“  Certainly  not  on  mine,”  replied  Greenleaf ;  “  I  would  only  remind  your 
worship  that  what  I  have  said  was  a  sincere  opinion  expressed  in  answer  to 
your  worship’s  question  ;  and  that,  as  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence  has  avowed 
himself  the  patron  of  this  man,  I  would  not  willingly  be  left  to  the  hazard 
of  his  revenge.” 

“  Pshaw!”  answered  De  Walton,  “is  Aymer  de  Valence  governor  of  this 
castle,  or  am  I  ?  or  to  whom  do  you  imagine  you  are  responsible  for  answer¬ 
ing  such  questions  as  I  may  put  to  you  ?” 

“Nay,”  replied  the  archer,  secretly  not  displeased  at  seeing  De  Walton 
show  some  little  jealousy  of  his  own  authority,  “  believe  me.  Sir  Knight, 
that  I  know  my  own  station  and  your  worship’s,  and  that  I  am  not  now  to 
be  told  to  whom  I  owe  obedience.” 

“  To  the  study,  then,  and  let  us  find  the  man,”  said  the  governor. 

“  A  fine  matter,  indeed,”  subjoined  Greenleaf,  following  him,  “  that  your 
worship  should  have  to  go  in  person  to  look  after  the  arrest  of  so  mean  an 
individual.  But  your  honour  is  right ;  those  minstrels  are  often  jugglers, 


310 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


and  possess  the  power  of  making  their  escape  by  means  which  borrel*  folk 
like  myself  are  disposed  to  attribute  to  necromancy/^ 

Without  attending  to  these  last  words,  Sir  John  de  Walton  set  forth 
towards  the  study,  walking  at  a  quick  pace,  as  if  this  conversation  had 
augmented  his  desire  to  find  himself  in  possession  of  the  person  of  the 
suspected  minstrel. 

Traversing  the  ancient  passages  of  the  castle,  the  governor  had  no  diffi¬ 
culty  in  reaching  the  study,  which  was  strongly  vaulted  with  stone,  and 
furnished  with  a  sort  of  iron  cabinet,  intended  for  the  preservation  of  articles 
and  papers  of  value,  in  case  of  fire.  Here  he  found  the  minstrel  seated  at 
a  small  table,  sustaining  before  him  a  manuscript,  apparently  of  great  anti¬ 
quity,  from  w’hich  he  seemed  engaged  in  making  extracts.  The  windows 
of  the  room  were  very  small,  and  still  showed  some  traces  that  they  had 
originally  been  glazed  with  a  painted  history  of  Saint  Bride — another  mark 
of  the  devotion  of  the  great  family  of  Douglas  to  their  tutelar  saint. 

•'  The  minstrel,  who  had  seemed  deeply  wrapped  in  the  contemplation  of 
his  task,  on  being  disturbed  by  the  unlooked-for  entrance  of  Sir  John  de 
Walton,  rose  with  every  mark  of  respect  and  humility,  and,  remaining 
standing  in  the  governor’s  presence,  appeared  to  wait  for  his  interrogations, 
as  if  he  had  anticipated  that  the  visit  concerned  himself  particularly. 

“I  am  to  suppose.  Sir  Minstrel,”  said  Sir  John  de  Walton,  “that  you 
have  been  successful  in  your  search,  and  have  found  the  roll  of  poetry  or 
prophecies  that  you  proposed  to  seek  after  amongst  these  broken  shelves 
and  tattered  volumes  ?” 

“  More  successful  than  I  could  have  expected,”  replied  the  minstrel, 
“  considering  the  effects  of  the  conflagration.  This,  Sir  Knight,  is  appa¬ 
rently  the  fatal  volume  for  which  I  sought,  and  strange  it  is,  considering 
the  heavy  chance  of  other  books  contained  in  this  library,  that  I  have  been 
able  to  find  a  few  though  imperfect  fragments  of  it.” 

“  Since,  therefore,  you  have  been  permitted  to  indulge  your  curiosity,” 
said  the  governor,  “  I  trust,  minstrel,  you  will  have  no  objection  to  satisfy 
mine  ?” 

The  minstrel  replied  with  the  same  humility,  “that  if  there  was  any 
thing  within  the  poor  compass  of  his  skill  which  could  gratify  Sir  John  de 
W alton  in  any  degree,  he  would  but  reach  his  lute,  and  presently  obey  his 
commands.” 

“You  mistake.  Sir,”  said  Sir  John,  somewhat  harshly.  “I  am  none  of 
those  who  have  hours  to  spend  in  listening  to  tales  or  music  of  former  days ; 
my  life  has  hardly  given  me  time  enough  for  learning  the  duties  of  my  pro¬ 
fession,  far  less  has  it  allowed  me  leisure  for  such  twangling  follies.  I  care 
not  who  knows  it,  but  my  ear  is  so  incapable  of  judging  of  your  art,  which 
you  doubtless  think  a  noble  one,  that  I  can  scarcely  tell  the  modulation  of 
one  tune  from  another.” 

“  In  that  case,”  replied  the  minstrel  composedly,  “  I  can  hardly  promise 
mycelf  the  pleasure  of  aifording  your  worship  the  amusement  which  I  might 
otherwise  have  done.” 

“  Nor  do  I  look  for  any  at  your  hand,”  said  the  governor,  advancing  a 
step  nearer  to  him,  and  speaking  in  a  sterner  tone.  “  I  want  information, 
sir,  which  I  am  assured  you  can  give  me,  if  you  incline ;  and  it  is  my  duty 
to  tell  you,  that  if  you  show  unwillingness  to  speak  the  truth,  I  know  means 
by  which  it  will  become  my  painful  duty  to  extort  it  in  a  more  disagreeable 
manner  than  I  would  wish.” 

“  If  your  questions.  Sir  Knight,”  answered  Bertram,  “  be  such  as  I  can 
or  ought  to  answer,  there  shall  be  no  occasion  to  put  them  more  than  once. 
If  they  are  such  as  I  cannot  or  ought  not  to  reply  to,  believe  me  that  no 
threats  of  violence  will  extort  an  answer  from  me.” 


•  Unlearned, 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


311 


“You  speak  boldly/^  said  Sir  John  de  Walton  ;  “  but  take  my  word  for 
it,  that  your  courage  will  be  put  to  the  test.  I  am  as  little  fond  of  proceed¬ 
ing  to  such  extremities  as  you  can  be  of  undergoing  them,  but  such  will  be 
the  natural  consequence  of  your  own  obstinacy.  I  therefore  ask  you,  whe¬ 
ther  Bertram  be  your  real  name  —  whether  you  have  any  other  profession 
than  that  of  a  travelling  minstrel  —  and,  lastly,  whether  you  have  any 
acquaintance  or  connexion  with  any  Englishman  or  Scottishman  beyond 
the  walls  of  this  Castle  of  Douglas?’^ 

“  To  these  questions,’^  replied  the  minstrel,  “  I  have  already  answered  the 
worshipful  knight.  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence,  and  having  fully  satisfied  him, 
it  is  not,  I  conceive,  necessary  that  I  should  undergo  a  second  examination ; 
nor  is  it  consistent  either  with  your  worship’s  honour,  or  that  of  the  lieu¬ 
tenant-governor,  that  such  a  re-examination  should  take  place.” 

“You  are  very  considerate,”  replied  the  governor,  “of  my  honour  and 
of  that  of  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence.  Take  my  word  for  it,  they  are  both  in 

Ferfect  safety  in  our  own  keeping,  and  may  dispense  with  your  attention. 

ask  you,  will  you  answer  the  enquiries  which  it  is  my  duty  to  make,  or 
am  I  to  enforce  obedience  by  putting  you  under  the  penalties  of  the  ques¬ 
tion  ?  I  have  already,  it  is  my  duty  to  say,  seen  the  answers  you  have 
returned  to  my  lieutenant,  and  they  do  not  satisfy  me.” 

He  at  the  same  time  clapped  his  hands,  and  two  or  three  archers  showed 
themselves  stripped  of  their  tunics,  and  only  attired  in  their  shirts  and 
hose. 

“  I  understand,”  said  the  minstrel,  “  that  you  intend  to  inflict  upon  me  a 
punisliinent  which  is  foreign  to  the  genius  of  the  English  laws,  in  that  no 
proof  is  adduced  of  my  guilt.  I  have  already  told  that  I  am  by  birth  an 
Englishman,  by  profession  a  minstrel,  and  that  I  am  totally  unconnected 
with  any  person  likely  to  nourish  any  design  against  this  Castle  of  Douglas, 
Sir  John  de  Walton,  or  his  garrison.  What  answers  you  may  extort  from 
me  by  bodily  agony,  I  cannot,  to  speak  as  a  plain-dealing  Christian,  hold 
myself  responsible  for.  I  think  tlyit  I  can  endure  as  much  pain  as  any  one; 
I  am  sure  that  I  never  yet  felt  a  degree  of  agony,  that  I  would  not  willingly 
prefer  to  breaking  my  plighted  word,  or  becoming  a  false  informer  against 
innocent  persons  ;  but  I  own  I  do  not  know  the  extent  to  which  the  art  of 
torture  may  be  carried  ;  and  though  I  do  not  fear  you,  Sir  John  de  Walton, 
yet  I  must  acknowledge  that  I  fear  myself,  since  I  know  not  to  what  extre¬ 
mity  your  cruelty  may  be  capable  of  subjecting  me,  or  how  far  I  may  bo 
enabled  to  bear  it.  I,  therefore,  in  the  first  place,  protest,  that  I  shall  in 
no  manner  be  liable  for  any  words  which  I  may  utter  in  the  course  of  any 
examination  enforced  from  me  by  torture  ;  and  you  must  therefore,  under 
such  circumstances,  proceed  to  the  execution  of  an  office,  which,  permit  me 
to  say,  is  hardly  that  which  I  expected  to  have  found  thus  administered  by 
an  accomplished  knight  like  yourself.” 

“  Hark  you,  sir,”  replied  the  governor,  “you  and  I  are  at  issue,  and  in 
doing  my  duty,  I  ought  instantly  to  proceed  to  the  extremities  I  have  threat¬ 
ened  ;  but  perhaps  you  yourself  feel  less  reluctance  to  undergo  the  exami¬ 
nation  as  proposed,  than  I  shall  do  in  commanding  it ;  I  will  therefore  con¬ 
sign  you  for  the  present  to  a  place  of  confinement,  suitable  to  one  who  is 
suspected  of  being  a  spy  upon  this  fortress.  Until  you  are  pleased  to  remove 
such  suspicions,  your  lodgings  and  nourishment  are  those  of  a  prisoner. 
In  the  meantime,  before  subjecting  you  to  the  question,  take  notice,  I  will 
myself  ride  to  the  Abbey  of  Saint  Bride,  and  satisfy  myself  whether  the 
young  person  whom  you  would  pass  as  your  son,  is  possessed  of  the  same 
determination  as  that  which  you  yourself  seem  to  assert.  It  may  so  happen 
that  his  examination  and  yours  may  throw  such  light  upon  each  other  as 
will  decidedly  prove  either  your  guilt  or  innocence,  without  its  being  con¬ 
firmed  by  the  use  of  the  extraordinary  question.  If  it  be  otherwise,  tremble 
for  your  son’s  sake,  if  not  for  your  own. — Have  I  shaken  you,  sir?  —  or  do 


312 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


you  fear,  for  your  boy's  young  sinews  and  joints,  the  engines  which,  in  your 
case,  you  seem  willing  to  defy  ?" 

“  Sir,"  answered  the  minstrel,  recovering  from  the  momentary  emotion 
he  had  shown,  “  I  leave  it  to  yourself,  as  a  man  of  honour  and  candour, 
whether  you  ought,  in  common  fairness,  to  form  a  worse  opinion  of  any  man, 
because  he  is  not  unwilling  to  incur,  in  his  own  person,  severities  which  he 
would  not  desire  to  be  inflicted  upon  his  child,  a  sickly  youth,  just  recover¬ 
ing  from  a  dangerous  disease." 

“It  is  my  duty,"  answered  De  Walton,  after  a  short  pause,  “to  leave  no 
stone  unturned  by  which  this  business  may  be  traced  to  the  source ;  and  if 
thou  desirest  mercy  for  thy  son,  thou  wilt  thyself  most  easily  attain  it,  by 
setting  him  the  example  of  honesty  and  plain-dealing." 

The  minstrel  threw  himself  back  on  the  seat,  as  if  fully  resolved  to  bear 
every  extremity  that  could  be  inflicted,  rather  than  make  any  farther  answer 
than  he  had  already  offered.  Sir  John  de  Walton  himself  seemed  in  some 
degree  uncertain  what  might  now  be  his  best  course.  He  felt  an  invincible 
repugnance  to  proceed,  without  due  consideration,  in  what  most  people 
would  have  deemed  the  direct  line  of  his  duty,  by  inflicting  the  torture  both 
upon  father  and  son  ;  but  deep  as  was  his  sense  of  devotion  towards  the 
King,  and  numerous  as  were  the  hopes  and  expectations  he  had  formed 
upon  the  strict  discharge  of  his  present  high  trust,  he  could  not  resolve 
upon  having  recourse  at  once  to  this  cruel  method  of  cutting  the  knot. 
Bertram's  appearance  was  venerable,  and  his  power  of  words  not  unworthy 
of  his  aspect  and  bearing.  The  governor  remembered  that  Aymer  de 
Valence,  whose  judgment  in  general  it  was  impossible  to  deny,  had  described 
him  as  one  of  those  rare  individuals,  who  vindicated  the  honour  of  a  cor¬ 
rupted  profession  by  their  personal  good  behaviour ;  and  he  acknowledged 
to  himself,  that  there  was  gross  cruelty  and  injustice  in  refusing  to  admit 
the  prisoner  to  the  credit  of  being  a  true  and  honest  man,  until,  by  way  of 
proving  his  rectitude,  he  had  strained  every  sinew,  and  crushed  every  joint 
in  his  body,  as  well  as  those  of  his  son.  “  I  have  no  touchstone,"  he  said 
internally,  “  which  can  distinguish  truth  from  falsehood ;  the  Bruce  and  his 
followers  are  on  the  alert, — he  has  certainly  equipped  the  galleys  which  lay 
at  Bachrin  during  winter.  This  story,  too,  of  Greenleaf,  about  arms  being 
procured  for  a  new  insurrection,  tallies  strangely  with  the  appearance  of 
that  savage-looking  forester  at  the  hunt ;  and  all  tends  to  show,  that  some¬ 
thing  is  upon  the  anvil  which  it  is  my  duty  to  provide  against.  I  will,  there¬ 
fore,  pass  over  no  circumstance  by  which  I  can  affect  the  mind  through 
hope  or  fear ;  but,  please  God  to  give  me  light  from  any  other  source,  I  will 
not  think  it  lawful  to  torment  these  unfortunate,  and,  it  may  yet  be,  honest 
men."  He  accordingly  took  his  departure  from  the  library,  whispering  a 
word  to  Greenleaf  respecting  the  prisoner. 

He  had  reached  the  outward  door  of  the  study,  and  his  satellites  had 
already  taken  the  minstrel  into  their  grasp,  when  the  voice  of  the  old  man 
was  heard  calling  upon  De  Walton  to  return  for  a  single  moment. 

“  What  hast  thou  to  say,  sir?"  said  the  governor ;  “  be  speedy,  for  I  have 
already  lost  more  time  in  listening  to  thee  than  I  am  answerable  for ;  and 
so  I  advise  thee  for  thine  own  sake" - 

“  I  advise  thee,"  said  the  minstrel,  “  for  thine  own  sake,  Sir  John  de 
Walton,  to  beware  how  thou  dost  insist  on  thy  present  purpose,  by  which 
thou  thyself  alone,  of  all  men  living,  will  most  severely  suffer.  If  thou 
harmest  a  hair  of  that  young  man's  head  —  nay,  if  thou  permittest  him  to 
undergo  any  privation  which  it  is  in  thy  power  to  prevent,  thou  wilt,  in 
doing  so,  prepare  for  thine  own  suffering  a  degree  of  agony  more  acute  than 
anything  else  in  this  mortal  world  could  cause  thee.  I  swear  by  the  most 
blessed  objects  of  our  holy  religion ;  I  call  to  witness  that  holy  sepulchre, 
of  which  I  have  been  an  unworthy  visitor,  that  I  speak  nothing  but  the 
truth,  and  that  thou  wilt  one  day  testify  thy  gratitude  for  the  part  I  am 


CASTLE  DANCEROUS. 


313 


now  acting.  It  is  my  interest,  as  well  as  yours,  to  secure  you  in  the  safe 
possession  of  this  castle,  although  assuredly  I  know  some  things  respecting 
it,  and  respecting  your  worship,  which  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  tell  without 
the  consent  of  that  youth.  Bring  me  but  a  note  under  his  hand,  consent¬ 
ing  to  my  taking  you  into  our  mystery,  and  believe  me,  you  will  soon  see 
those  clouds  charmed  away ;  since  there  was  never  a  doleful  uncertainty 
which  more  speedily  changed  to  joy,  or  a  thunder-cloud  of  adversity  which 
more  instantly  gave  way  to  sunshine,  than  would  then  the  suspicions  which 
appear  now  so  formidable.’^ 

lie  spoke  with  so  much  earnestness  as  to  make  some  impression  upon  Sir 
John  de  Walton,  who  was  once  more  wholly  at  a  loss  to  know  what  line  his 
duty  called  upon  him  to  pursue. 

“  I  would  most  gladly,”  said  the  governor,  “  follow  out  my  purpose  by 
the  gentlest  means  in  my  power ;  and  I  shall  bring  no  further  distress  upon 
this  poor  lad,  than  thine  own  obstinacy  and  his  shall  appear  to  deserve.  In 
the  meantime,  think.  Sir  Minstrel,  that  my  duty  has  limits,  and  if  I  slack 
it  for  a  day,  it  will  become  thee  to  exert  every  effort  in  thy  power  to  meet 
my  condescension.  I  will  give  thee  leave  to  address  thy  son  by  a  line  under 
thy  hand,  and  I  will  await  his  answer  before  I  proceed  farther  in  this  matter, 
which  seems  to  be  very  mysterious.  Meantime,  as  thou  hast  a  soul  to  be 
saved,  I  conjure  thee  to  speak  the  truth,  and  tell  me  whether  the  secrets  of 
which  thou  seemest  to  be  a  too  faithful  treasurer,  have  regard  to  the  prac¬ 
tices  of*  Douglas,  of  Bruce,  or  of  any  in  their  names,  against  this  Castle  of 
Douglas  ?” 

The  prisoner  thought  a  moment,  and  then  replied  —  “I  am  aware,  Sir 
Knight,  of  the  severe  charge  under  which  this  command  is  intrusted  to 
your  hands,  and  were  it  in  my  power  to  assist  you,  as  a  faithful  minstrel 
and  loyal  subject,  either  with  hand  or  tongue,  I  should  feel  myself  called 
upon  so  to  do ;  but  so  far  am  I  from  being  the  character  your  suspicions 
have  apprehended,  that  I  should  have  held  it  for  certain  that  the  Bruce  and 
Douglas  had  assembled  their  followers,  for  the  purpose  of  renouncing  their 
rebellious  attempts,  and  taking  their  departure  for  the  Holy  Land,  but  for 
the  apparition  of  the  forester,  who,  I  hear,  bearded  you  at  the  hunting,  which 
impresses  upon  me  the  belief,  that  when  so  resolute  a  follower  and  hench¬ 
man  of  the  Douglas  was  sitting  fearless  among  you,  his  master  and  com¬ 
rades  could  be  at  no  great  distance — how  far  his  intentions  could  be  friendly 
to  you,  I  must  leave  it  to  yourself  to  judge ;  only  believe  me  thus  far,  that 
the  rack,  pulley,  or  pincers,  would  not  have  compelled  me  to  act  the  in¬ 
former,  or  adviser,  in  a  quarrel  wherein  I  have  little  or  no  share,  if  I  had 
not  been  desirous  of  fixing  the  belief  upon  you,  that  you  are  dealing  with  a 
true  man,  and  one  who  has  your  welfare  at  heart.  —  Meanwhile,  permit  me 
to  have  writing  materials,  or  let  my  own  be  restored,  for  I  possess,  in  some 
degree,  the  higher  arts  of  my  calling ;  nor  do  I  fear  but  that  I  can  pro¬ 
cure  for  you  an  explanation  of  these  marvels,  without  much  more  loss 
of  time.” 

“  God  grant  it  prove  so,”  said  the  governor;  “though  I  see  not  well  how 
I  can  hope  for  so  favourable  a  termination,  and  I  may  sustain  great  harm 
by  trusting  too  much  on  the  present  occasion.  My  duty,  however,  requires 
that,  in  the  meantime,  you  be  removed  into  strict  confinement.” 

He  handed  to  the  prisoner,  as  he  spoke,  the  writing  materials,  which  had 
been  seized  upon  by  the  archers  on  their  first  entrance,  and  then  commanded 
those  satellites  to  unhand  the  minstrel. 

“I  must,  then,”  said  Bertram,  “remain  subjected  to  all  the  severities  of 
a  strict  captivity ;  but  I  deprecate  no  hardship  whatever  in  my  own  person, 
so  I  may  secure  you  from  acting  with  a  degree  of  rashness,  of  which  you 
will  all  your  life  repent,  without  the  means  of  atoning.” 

“  No  more  words,  minstrel,”  said  the  governor  ;  “  but  since  I  have  made 

2  u 


814 


WAVEKLEY  NOVELS. 


my  choice,  perhaps  a  very  dangerous  one  for  myself,  let  us  carry  this  spell 
into  execution,  which  thou  sayest  is  to  serve  me,  as  mariners  say  that  oil 
spread  upon  the  raging  billows  will  assuage  their  fury/^ 


(Cjinptn  tjjt  jiintji. 

****** 

Beware  !  beware !  of  the  black  Friar, 

He  still  retains  his  sway, 

For  he  is  yet  the  Church’s  heir  by  right, 

Whoever  may  be  the  lay. 

Amundeville  is  lord  by  day, 

But  the  monk  is  lord  by  night. 

Nor  wine  nor  wassel  could  raise  a  vassal 
To  question  that  friar’s  right. 

Don  Juan,  Canto  XVII. 

The  minstrel  made  no  vain  boast  of  the  skill  which  he  possessed  in  the 
use  of  pen  and  ink.  In  fact,  no  priest  of  the  time  could  have  produced  his 
little  scroll  more  speedily,  more  neatly  composed,  or  more  fairly *written, 
than  were  the  lines  addressed  “  To  the  youth  called  Augustine,  son  of  Ber¬ 
tram  the  Minstrel.’^ 

“  I  have  not  folded  this  letter,^^  said  he,  “  nor  tied  it  with  silk,  for  it  is 
not  expressed  so  as  to  explain  the  mystery  to  you ;  nor,  to  speak  frankly, 
do  I  think  that  it  can  convey  to  you  any  intelligence ;  but  it  may  be  satis¬ 
factory  to  show  you  what  the  letter  does  not  contain,  and  that  it  is  written 
from  and  to  a  person  who  both  mean  kindly  towards  you  and  your  gar- 
rison.^^ 

“  That,^^  said  the  governor,  “  is  a  deception  which  is  easily  practised ;  it 
tends,  however,  to  show,  though  not  with  certainty,  that  you  are  disposed  to 
act  upon  good  faith ;  and  until  the  contrary  appear,  I  shall  consider  it  a 
point  of  duty  to  treat  you  with  as  much  gentleness  as  the  matter  admits  of. 
Meantime,  I  will  myself  ride  to  the  Abbey  of  Saint  Bride,  and  in  person 
examine  the  young  prisoner ;  and  as  you  say  he  has  the  power,  so  I  pray 
to  Heaven  he  may  have  the  will,  to  read  this  riddle,  which  seems  to  throw 
us  all  into  confusion.^'  So  saying,  he  ordered  his  horse,  and  while  it  was 
getting  ready,  he  perused  with  great  composure  the  minstreFs  letter.  Its 
contents  ran  thus : — 

“  Dear  Augustine, 

“Sir  John  de  Walton,  the  governor  of  this  castle,  has  conceived  those 
suspicions  which  I  pointed  out  as  likely  to  be  the  consequence  of  our  coming 
to  this  country  without  an  avowed  errand.  I  at  least  am  seized,  and  threat¬ 
ened  with  examination  under  torture,  to  force  me  to  tell  the  purpose  of  our 
journey;  but  they  shall  tear  the  flesh  from  my  bones,  ere  they  force  me  to 
break  the  oath  which  I  have  taken.  And  the  purport  of  this  letter  is  to 
apprize  you  of  the  danger  in  which  you  stand  of  being  placed  in  similar 
circumstances,  unless  you  are  disposed  to  authorize  me  to  make  the  dis¬ 
covery  to  this  knight;  but  on  this  subject  you  are  only  to  express  your  own 
wishes,  being  assured  they  shall  be  in  every  respect  attended  to  by  your 
devoted  “  Bertram.^^ 

This  letter  did  not  throw  the  smallest  light  upon  the  mystery  of  the 
writer.  The  governor  read  it  more  than  once,  and  turned  it  repeatedly  in 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


315 


his  hand,  as  if  ho  had  hoped  by  that  mechanical  process  to  draw  something 
from  the  missive,  whicli  at  a  first  view  the  words  did  not  express ;  but  as  no 
result  of  this  sort  appeared,  De  AValton  retired  to  the  hall,  where  ho  informed 
Sir  Aymer  de  Valence,  that  he  was  going  abroad  as  far  as  the  Abbey  of 
Saint  Bride,  and  that  he  would  be  obliged  by  his  taking  upon  him  the 
duties  of  governor  during  his  absence.  Sir  Aymer,  of  course,  intimated 
his  acquiescence  in  the  charge  ;  and  the  state  of  disunion  in  which  they 
stood  to  each  other,  permitted  no  further  explanation. 

Upon  the  arrival  of  Sir  John  de  Walton  at  the  dilapidated  shrine,  the 
abbot,  with  trembling  haste,  made  it  his  business  immediately  to  attend  the 
commander  of  the  English  garrison,  upon  whom  for  the  present,  their  house 
depended  for  every  indulgence  they  experienced,  as  well  as  for  the  sub¬ 
sistence  and  protection  necessary  to  them  in  so  perilous  a  period.  Having 
interrogated  this  old  man  respecting  the  youth  residing  in  the  Abbey,  De 
Walton  was  informed  that  he  had  been  indisposed  since  left  there  by  his 
father,  Bertram,  a  minstrel.  It  appeared  to  the  abbot,  that  his  indisposition 
might  be  of  that  contagious  kind  which,  at  that  period,  ravaged  the  English 
Borders,  and  made  some  incursions  into  Scotland,  where  it  afterwards 
worked  a  fearful  progress.  After  some  farther  conversation.  Sir  John  do 
Walton  put  into  the  abbot’s  hand  the  letter  to  the  young  person  under  his 
roof,  on  delivering  which  to  Augustine,  the  reverend  father  was  charged 
with  a  message  to  the  English  governor,  so  bold,  that  he  was  afraid  to  be 
the  bearer  of  it.  It  signified,  that  the  youth  could  not,  and  would  not,  at 
that  moment,  receive  the  English  knight ;  but  that,  if  he  came  back  on  the 
morrow  after  mass,  it  was  probable  he  might  learn  something  of  what  was 
requested. 

“  This  is  not  an  answer,”  said  Sir  John  de  Walton,  “to  be  sent  by  a  boy 
like  this  to  a  person  in  my  charge  ;  and  methinks.  Father  Abbot,  you  consult 
your  own  safety  but  slenderly  in  delivering  such  an  insolent  message.” 

The  abbot  trembled  under  the  folds  of  his  large  coarse  habit ;  and  Do 
Walton,  imagining  that  his  discomposure  was  the  consequence  of  guilty 
fear,  called  upon  him  to  remember  the  duties  which  he  owed  to  England, 
the  benefits  which  he  had  received  from  himself,  and  the  probable  conse¬ 
quence  of  taking  part  in  a  pert  boy’s  insolent  defiance  of  the  power  of  the 
governor  of  the  province. 

The  abbot  vindicated  himself  from  these  charges  with  the  utmost  anxiety. 
He  pledged  his  sacred  word,  that  the  inconsiderate  character  of  the  boy’s 
message  was  owing  to  the  waywardness  arising  from  indisposition,  lie 
reminded  the  governor  that,  as  a  Christian  and  an  Englishman,  he  had 
duties  to  observe  towards  the  community  of  Saint  Bride,  which  had  never 
given  the  English  government  the  least  subject  of  complaint.  As  he  spoke, 
the  churchman  seemed  to  gather  courage  from  the  immunities  of  his  order. 
He  said  he  could  not  permit  a  sick  boy  who  had  taken  refuge  within  the 
sanctuary  of  the  Church,  to  be  seized  or  subjected  to  any  species  of  force, 
unless  he  was  accused  of  a  specific  crime,  capable  of  being  immediately 
proved.  The  Douglasses,  a  headstrong  race,  had,  in  former  days,  uniformly 
respected  the  sanctuary  of  Saint  Bride,  and  it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that 
the  king  of  England,  the  dutiful  and  obedient  child  of  the  Church  of  Home, 
would  act  with  less  veneration  for  her  rights,  than  the  followers  of  a  usurper, 
homicide,  and  excommunicated  person  like  Robert  Bruce. 

Walton  was  considerably  shaken  with  this  remonstrance.  He  knew  that, 
in  the  circumstances  of  the  times,  the  Pope  had  great  power  in  every  con¬ 
troversy  in  which  it  was  his  pleasure  to  interfere.  He  knew  that  even  in 
the  dispute  respecting  the  supremacy  of  Scotland,  his  Holiness  had  set  up 
a  claim  to  the  kingdom  which,  in  the  temper  of  the  times,  might  perhaps 
have  been  deemed  superior  both  to  that  of  Robert  Bruce,  and  that  of  Ed¬ 
ward  of  England,  and  he  conceived  his  monarch  would  give  him  little 
thanks  for  any  fresh  embroilment  which  might  take  place  with  the  Church. 


816 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


Moreover,  it  was  easy  to  place  a  watch,  so  as  to  prevent  Augustine  from 
escaping  during  the  night ;  and  on  the  following  morning  he  would  be  still 
as  effectually  in  the  power  of  the  English  governor  as  if  he  were  seized  on 
by  open  force  at  the  present  moment.  Sir  John  de  Walton,  however,  so  far 
exerted  his  authority  over  the  abbot,  that  he  engaged,  in  consideration  of 
the  sanctuary  being  respected  for  this  space  of  time,  that,  when  it  expired, 
he  would  be  aiding  and  assisting  with  his  spiritual  authority  to  surrender 
the  youth,  should  he  not  allege  a  sufficient  reason  to  the  contrary.  This 
arrangement,  which  appeared  still  to  flatter  the  governor  with  the  prospect 
of  an  easy  termination  of  this  troublesome  dispute,  induced  him  to  grant 
the  delay  which  Augustine  rather  demanded  than  petitioned  for. 

“  At  your  request,  Father  Abbot,  whom  I  have  hitherto  found  a  true  man, 

I  will  indulge  this  youth  with  the  grace  he  asks,  before  taking  him  into 
custody,  understanding  that  he  shall  not  be  permitted  to  leave  this  place ; 
and  thou  art  to  be  responsible  to  this  effect,  giving  thee,  as  is  reasonable, 
power  to  command  our  little  garrison  at  Hazelside,  to  which  I  will  send  a 
reinforcement  on  my  return  to  the  Castle,  in  case  it  should  be  necessary  to 
use  the  strong  hand,  or  circumstances  impose  upon  me  other  measures.'’^ 

“Worthy  Sir  Knight,’^  replied  the  Abbot,  “I  have  no  idea  that  the  fro- 
wardness  of  this  yohth  will  render  any  course  necessary,  saving  that  of 
persuasion  ;  and  I  venture  to  say,  that  you  yourself  will  in  the  highest 
degree  approve  of  the  method  in  which  I  shall  acquit  myself  of  my  present 
trust.^^ 

The  abbot  went  through  the  duties  of  hospitality,  enumerating  what 
simple  cheer  the  cloister  of  the  convent  permitted  him  to  offer  to  the  English 
knight.  Sir  John  de  Walton  declined  the  offer  of  refreshment,  however  — 
took  a  courteous  leave  of  the  churchman,  and  did  not  spare  his  horse  until 
the  noble  animal  had  brought  him  again  before  the  Castle  of  Douglas.  Sir 
Aymer  De  Valence  met  him  on  the  drawbridge,  and  reported  the  state  of 
the  garrison  to  be  the  same  in  which  he  had  left  it,  excepting  that  intima¬ 
tion  had  been  received  that  twelve  or  fifteen  men  were  expected  on  their 
way  to  the  town  of  Lanark ;  and  being  on  march  from  the  neighbourhood 
of  Ayr,  would  that  night  take  up  their  quarters  at  the  outpost  of  Hazel- 
side. 

“  I  am  glad  of  it,’^  replied  the  governor  ;  “  I  was  about  to  strengthen  that 
detachment.  This  stripling,  the  son  of  Bertram  the  minstrel,  or  whoever 
he  is,  has  engaged  to  deliver  himself  up  for  examination  in  the  morning. 
As  this  party  of  soldiers  are  followers  of  your  uncle,  Lord  Pembroke,  may 
I  request  you  will  ride  to  meet  them,  and  command  them  to  remain  at 
Hazelside  until  you  make  farther  enquiries  about  this  youth,  who  has  still 
to  clear  up  the  mystery  which  hangs  about  him,  and  reply  to  a  letter  which 
I  delivered  with  my  own  hand  to  the  Abbot  of  Saint  Bride.  I  have  shown, 
too  much  forbearance  in  this  matter,  and  I  trust  to  your  looking  to  the 
security  of  this  young  man,  and  conveying  him  hither,  with  all  due  care 
and  attention,  as  being  a  prisoner  of  some  importance. 

“Certainly,  Sir  John,^’  answered  Sir  Aymer;  “your  orders  shall  be  • 
obeyed,  since  you  have  none  of  greater  importance  for  one  who  hath  the 
honour  to  be  second  only  to  yourself  in  this  place.^^ 

“  I  crave  your  mercy.  Sir  Aymer, returned  the  governor,  “  if  the  com¬ 
mission  be  in  any  degree  beneath  your  dignity ;  but  it  is  our  misfortune  to 
misunderstand  each  other,  when  we  endeavour  to  be  most  intelligible.^^ 

“  But  what  am  I  to  do,’'  said  Sir  Aymer —  “  no  way  disputing  your  com¬ 
mand,  but  only  asking  for  information  —  what  am  I  to  do,  if  the  Abbot  of 
Saint  Bride  offers  opposition 

“  How !”  answered  Sir  John  de  Walton  ;  “with  the  reinforcement  from 
my  Lord  of  Pembroke,  you  will  command  at  least  twenty  war-men,  with 
bow  and  spear,  against  five  or  six  timid  old  monks,  with  only  gown  and 
hood.” 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


317 

“  True,”  said  Sir  Aymer,  “  but  ban  and  excommunication  are  sometimes, 
in  the  present  day,  too  hard  for  the  mail  coat,  and  I  would  not  willingly,  be 
thrown  out  of  the  pale  of  the  Christian  Church. 

“  Well,  then,  thou  very  suspicious  and  scrupulous  young  man,”  replied 
De  Walton,  “  know  that  if  this  youth  does  not  deliver  himself  up  to  thee  of 
his  own  accord,  the  abbot  has  promised  to  put  him  into  thy  hands.” 

There  was  no  farther  answer  to  be  made,  and  De  Valence,  though  still 
thinking  himself  unnecessarily  harassed  with  the  charge  of  a  petty  commis¬ 
sion,  took  the  sort  of  half  arms  which  were  always  used  when  the  knights 
stirred  beyond  the  walls  of  the  garrison,  and  proceeded  to  execute  the  com¬ 
mands  of  De  Walton.  A  horseman  or  two,  together  with  his  squire  Fabian, 
accompanied  him. 

The  evening  closed  in  with  one  of  those  Scottish  mists  which  are  commonly 
said  to  be  equal  to  the  showers  of  happier  climates ;  the  path  became  more 
and  more  dark,  the  hills  more  wreathed  in  vapours,  and  more  difficult  to 
traverse ;  and  all  the  little  petty  inconveniences  which  rendered  travelling 
through  the  district  slow  and  uncertain,  were  augmented  by  the  density  of 
the  fog  which  overhung  every  thing. 

Sir  Aymer,  therefore,  occasionally  mended  his  pace,  and  often  incurred 
the  fate  of  one  who  is  over-late,  delaying  himself  by  his  efforts  to  make 
greater  expedition.  The  knight  bethought  himself  that  he  would  get  into  a 
straight  road  by  passing  through  the  almost  deserted  town  of  Douglas — the  in¬ 
habitants  of  which  had  been  treated  so  severely  by  the  English,  in  the  course 
of  those  fierce  troubles,  that  most  of  them  who  were  capable  of  bearing  arms 
had  left  it,  and  withdrawn  themselves  to  different  parts  of  the  country.  This 
almost  deserted  place  was  defended  by  a  rude  palisade,  and  a  ruder  draw¬ 
bridge,  which  gave  entrance  into  streets  so  narrow,  as  to  admit  with  diffi¬ 
culty  three  horses  abreast,  and  evincing  with  what  strictness  the  ancient 
lords  of  the  village  adhered  to  their  prejudice  against  fortifications,  and  their 
opinion  in  favour  of  keeping  the  field,  so  quaintly  expressed  in  the  well- 
known  proverb  of  the  family, — “  It  is  better  to  hear  the  lark  sing  than  the 
mouse  cheep.”  The  streets,  or  rather  the  lanes,  were  dark,  but  for  a  shifting 
gleam  of  moonlight,  which,  as  that  planet  began  to  rise,  was  now  and  then 
visible  upon  some  steep  and  narrow  gable.  No  sound  of  domestic  industry, 
or  domestic  festivity,  was  heard,  and  no  ray  of  candle  or  firelight  glanced 
from  the  windows  of  the  houses;  the  ancient  ordinance  called  the  curfew, 
which  the  Conqueror  had  introduced  into  England,  was  at  this  time  in  full 
force  in  such  parts  of  Scotland  as  were  thought  doubtful,  and  likely  to  rebel ; 
under  which  description  it  need  not  be  said  the  ancient  possessions  of  the 
Douglas  were  most  especially  regarded.  The  Church,  whose  Gothic  monu¬ 
ments  were  of  a  magnificent  character,  had  been,  as  far  as  possible,  destroyed 
by  fire ;  but  tlie  ruins,  held  together  by  the  weight  of  the  massive  stones  of 
w'hich  they  were  composed,  still  sufficiently  evinced  the  greatness  of  the 
family  at  whose  cost  it  had  been  raised,  and  whose  bones,  from  immemorial 
time,  had  been  entombed  in  its  crypts. 

Paying  little  attention  to  these  relics  of  departed  splendour.  Sir  Aymer 
de  Valence  advanced  with  his  small  detachment,  and  had  passed  the  scat¬ 
tered  fragments  of  the  cemetery  of  the  Douglasses,  when  to  his  surprise,  the 
noise  of  his  horse’s  feet  was  seemingly  replied  to  by  sounds  which  rung  like 
those  of  another  knightly  steed  advancing  heavily  up  the  street,  as  if  it  were 
to  meet  him.  Valence  was  unable  to  conjecture  what  might  be  the  cause 
of  these  warlike  sounds  ;  the  ring  and  the  clang  of  armour  was  distinct,  and 
the  heavy  tramp  of  a  war-horse  was  not  to  be  mistaken  by  the  ear  of  a  war¬ 
rior.  The  difficulty  of  keeping  soldiers  from  straying  out  of  quarters  by 
night,  would  have  sufficiently  accounted  for  the  appearance  of  a  straggling 
foot-soldier;  but  it  was  more  difficult  to  account  for  a  mounted  horseman,  in 
full  armour ;  and  such  was  the  apparition  which  a  peculiarly  bright  glimpse 
of  moonlight  now  showed  at  the  bottom  of  the  causewayed  hill.  Perhaps 

2b2 


318 


WAVERLE  Y  NOVEL  S. 


the  unknown  warrior  obtained  at  the  same  time  a  glance  of  Aymer  de 
Valence  and  his  armed  followers — at  least  each  of  them  shouted  “  Who  goes 
there —  the  alarm  of  the  times;  and  on  the  instant  the  deep  answers  of 
“  St.  George  I”  on  the  One  side,  and  “  The  Douglas  V’  on  the  other,  awakened 
the  still  echoes  of  the  small  and  ruinous  street,  and  the  silent  arches  of  the 
dilapidated  church.  Astonished  at  a  war-cry  with  which  so  many  recollec¬ 
tions  were  connected,  the  English  knight  spurred  his  horse  at  full  gallop 
down  the  steep  and  broken  descent  leading  out  at  the  south  or  south-east 
gate  of  the  town  ;  and  it  was  the  work  of  an  instant  to  call  out,  “  Ho  !  Saint 
George  !  upon  the  insolent  villain  all  of  you  ! — To  the  gate,  Fabian,  and  cut 
him  off  from  flight !  —  Saint  George  !  I  say,  for  England !  Bows  and  bills  I 
— bows  and  bills  At  the  same  time  Aymer  de  Valence  laid  in  rest  his 
own  long  lance,  which  he  snatched  from  the  squire  by  whom  it  was  carried. 
But  the  light  was  seen  and  gone  in  an  instant,  and  though  De  Valence  con¬ 
cluded  that  the  hostile  warrior  had  hardly  room  to  avoid  his  career,  yet  he 
could  take  no  aim  for  the  encounter,  unless  by  mere  guess,  and  continued  to 
plunge  down  the  dark  declivity,  among  shattered  stones  and  other  encum¬ 
brances,  without  groping  out  with  his  lance  the  object  of  his  pursuit.  He 
rode,  in  short,  at  a  broken  gallop,  a  descent  of  about  fifty  or  sixty  yards, 
without  having  any  reason  to  suppose  that  he  had  met  the  figure  which  had 
appeared  to  him,  although  the  narrowness  of  the  street  scarcely  admitted  his 
having  passed  him,  unless  both  horse  and  horseman  could  have  melted  at 
the  moment  of  encorntei  hke  an  air-bubble.  The  riders  of  his  suite,  mean- 
W'hile,  were  struck  with  a  feeling  like  supernatural  terror,  which  a  number 
of  singular  adventures  had  caused  most  of  them  to  attach  to  the  name  of 
Douglas ;  and  when  he  reached  the  gate  by  which  the  broken  street  was 
terminated,  there  was  none  close  behind  him  but  Fabian,  in  whose  head  no 
suggestions  of  a  timorous  nature  could  outlive  the  sound  of  his  dear  master’s 
voice. 

Here  there  were  a  post  of  English  archers,  who  were  turning  out  in 
considerable  alarm,  when  De  Valence  and  his  page  rode  in  amongst  them. 
“Villains!”  shouted  De  Valence,  “why  were  you  not  upon  your  duty? 
Who  was  it  passed  through  your  post  even  now,  with  the  traitorous  cry  of 
Douglas  ?”  , 

“We  know  of  no  such,”  said  the  captain  of  the  watch. 

“  That  is  to  say,  you  besotted  villains,”  answered  the  young  knight,  “  you 
have  been  drinking,  and  have  slept?” 

The  men  protested  the  contrary,  but  in  a  confused  manner,  nvhich  was 
far  from  overcoming  De  Valence’s  suspicions.  He  called  loudly  to  bring 
cressets,  torches,  and  candles ;  and  a  few  remaining  inhabitants  began  to 
make  their  unwilling  appearance,  with  such  various  means  of  giving  light 
as  they  chanced  to  possess.  They  heard  the  story  of  the  young  English 
knight  with  wonder;  nor,  although  it  was  confirmed  by  all  his  retinue,  did 
they  give  credit  to  the  recital,  more  than  that  the  Englishmen  wished  some¬ 
how  or  other  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  the  people  of  the  palace,  under  the  pre¬ 
tence  of  their  having  admitted  a  retainer  of  their  ancient  lord  by  night  into 
the  town.  They  protested,  therefore,  their  innocence  of  the  cause  of  tumult, 
and  endeavoured  to  seem  active  in  hastening  from  house  to  house,  and  corner 
to  corner,  with  their  torches,  in  order  to  discover  the  invisible  cavalier.  The 
English  suspected  them  no  less  of  treachery,  than  the  Scottish  imagined  the 
whole  matter  a  pretext  for  bringing  an  accusation,  on  the  part  of  the  young 
knight,  against  the  citizens.  The  women,  however,  who  now  began  to  issue 
from  the  houses,  had  a  key  for  the  solution  of  the  apparition,  which  at  that 
time  was  believed  of  efficacy  sufficient  to  solve  any  mystery.  “  The  devil,” 
they  said,  “  must  have  appeared  visibly  amongst  them,”  an  explanation 
which  had  already  occurred  to  the  followers  of  the  young  knight ;  for  that  a 
living  man  and  horse,  both  as  it  seemed,  of  a  gigantic  size,  could  be  conjured 
in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  and  appear  in  a  street  secured  at  one  end  by  the 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


319 


best  of  the  archers,  and  at  the  other  by  the  horsemen  under  Valence  himself, 
was  altogether,  it  seemed,  a  thing  impossible.  The  inhabitants  did  not 
venture  to  put  their  thoughts  on  the  subject  into  language,  for  fear  of  giving 
oftence,  and  only  indicated  by  a  passing  word  to  each  other  the  secret  degree 
of  pleasure  which  they  felt  in  the  confusion  and  embarrassment  of  the 
English  garrison.  Still,  however,  they  continued  to  affect  a  great  deal  of 
interest  in  the  alarm  which  De  Valence  had  received,  and  the  anxiety  which 
he  expressed  to  discover  the  cause. 

At  length  a  female  voice  spoke  above  the  Babel  of  confused  sounds, 
saying,  “Where  is  the  Southern  Knight?  I  am  sure  that  I  can  tell  him 
Avhere  he  can  find  the  only  person  who  can  help  him  out  of  his  present 
difficulty.'^ 

“  And  who  is  that,  good  woman  ?"  said  Aymer  de  Valence,  who  was  grow¬ 
ing  every  moment  more  impatient  at  the  loss  of  time,  which  was  flying  fast, 
in  an  investigation  which  had  something  vexatious  in  it,  and  even  ridicu¬ 
lous.  At  the  same  time,  the  sight  of  an  armed  partisan  of  the  Douglasses, 
in  their  own  native  town,  seemed  to  bode  too  serious  consequences,  if  it 
should  be  suflfered  to  pass  without  being  probed  to  the  bottom. 

“  Come  hither  to  me,"  said  the  female  voice,  “  and  I  will  name  to  you  the 
only  person  who  can  explain  all  matters  of  this  kind  that  chance  in  this 
country."  On  this  the  knight  snatched  a  torch  from  some  of  those  who 
were  present,  and  holding  it  up,  descried  the  person  who  spoke,  a  tall 
woman,  who  evidently  endeavoured  to  render  herself  remarkable.  When 
he  approached  her,  she  communicated  her  intelligence  in  a  grave  and  sen¬ 
tentious  tone  of  voice. 

“We  had  once  wise  men,  that  could  have  answered  any  parables  which 
might  have  been  put  to  them  for  explanation  in  this  country  side.  AVhether 
you  yourselves,  gentlemen,  have  not  had  some  hand  in  weeding  them  out, 
good  troth,  it  is  not  for  the  like  of  me  to  say  ;  at  any  rate,  good  counsel  is 
not  so  easy  come  by  as  it  was  in  this  Douglas  country,  nor,  may  be,  is  it  a 
safe  thing  to  pretend  to  the  power  of  giving  it." 

“Good  woman,"  said  De  Valence,  “if  you  will  give  me  an  explanation 
of  this  mystery,  I  will  owe  you  a  kirtle  of  the  best  raploch  grey." 

“  It  is  not  I,"  said  the  old  woman,  “  that  pretend  to  possess  the  know¬ 
ledge  which  may  assist  you ;  but  I  would  fain  know  that  the  man  whom  I 
shall  name  to  you  shall  be  skaithless  and  harmless.  Upon  your  knighthood 
and  your  honour,  will  you  promise  to  me  so  much?" 

“Assuredly,"  said.De  Valence,  “such  a  person  shall  even  have  thanks 
and  reward,  if  he  is  a  faithful  informer ;  ay,  and  pardon,  moreover,  although 
he  may  have  listened  to  any  dangerous  practices,  or  been  concerned  in  any 
plots." 

“Oh!  not  he,"  replied  the  female;  “it  is  old  Goodman  Powheid,  who 
has  the  charge  of  the  muniments,"  (meaning  probably  monuments,)  “that 
is,  such  part  of  them  as  you  English  have  left  standing ;  I  mean  the  old 
sexton  of  the  kirk  of  Douglas,  who  can  tell  more  stories  of  these  old  folk, 
whom  your  honour  is  not  very  fond  of  hearing  named,  than  would  last  us 
from  this  day  to  Yule." 

“  Does  anybody,"  said  the  knight,  “  know  whom  it  is  that  this  old 
woman  means?" 

“  I  conjecture,"  replied  Fabian,  “  that  she  speaks  of  an  old  dotard,  who 
is,  I  think,  the  general  referee  concerning  the  history  and  antiquities  of 
this  old  town,  and  of  the  savage  family  that  lived  here  perhaps  before  the 
flood." 

“  And  who,  I  dare  say,"  said  the  knight,  “  knows  as  much  about  the 
matter  as  she  herself  does.  But  where  is  this  man  ?  a  sexton  is  he  ?  He 
may  be  acquainted  with  places  of  concealment,  which  are  often  fabricated 
in  Gothic  buildings,  and  known  to  those  whose  business  calls  them  to 
frequent  them.  Come,  my  good  old  dame,  bring  this  man  to  me ;  or, 


320 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


what  may  be  better,  I  will  go  to  him,  for  we  have  already  spent  too  much 
time/^ 

“  Time  1’^  replied  the  old  woman,  —  “  is  time  an  object  with  your  honour? 

I  am  sure  I  can  hardly  get  so  much  for  mine  as  will  hold  soul  and  body 
together.  You  are  not  far  from  the  old  man's  house." 

She  led  the  way  accordingly,  blundering  over  heaps  of  rubbish,  and 
encountering  all  the  embarrassments  of  a  ruinous  street,  in  lighting  the 
way  to  Sir  Aymer,  who,  giving  his  horse  to  one  of  his  attendants,  and 
desiring  Fabian  to  be  ready  at  a  call,  scrambled  after  as  well  as  the  slow¬ 
ness  of  his  guide  would  permit. 

Both  were  soon  involved  in  the  remains  of  the  old  church,  much  dilapi¬ 
dated  as  it  had  been  by  wanton  damage  done  to  it  by  the  soldiery,  and  so 
much  impeded  by  rubbish,  that  the  knight  marvelled  how  the  old  woman 
could  find  the  way.  She  kept  talking  all  the  while  as  she  stumbled  onward. 
Sometimes  she  called  out  in  a  screeching  tone,  “  Powheid !  Lazarus  Pow- 
heid  !"  —  and  then  muttered  —  “Ay,  ay,  the  old  man  will  be  busy  with 
some  of  his  duties,  as  he  calls  them ;  I  wonder  he  fashes  wF  them  in  these 
times.  But  never  mind,  I  warrant  they  will  last  for  his  day  and  for  mine  ; 
and  the  times.  Lord  help  us !  for  all  that  I  can  see,  are  well  enough  for 
those  that  are  to  live  in  them." 

“  Are  you  sure,  good  woman,"  replied  the  knight,  “  that  there  is  any 
inhabitant  in  these  ruins  ?  For  my  part,  I  should  rather  suppose  that  you 
are  taking  me  to  the  charn-el-house  of  the  dead." 

“  Maybe  you  are  right,"  said  the  old  woman,  with  a  ghastly  laugh ; 

“  carles  and  carlines  agree  weel  with  funeral  vaults  and  charnel-houses, 
and  when  an  auld  bedral  dwells  near  the  dead,  he  is  living,  ye  ken,  among 
his  customers — Halloo !  Powheid  !  Lazarus  Powheid  !  there  is  a  gentleman 
w^ould  speak  with  you ;"  and  she  added,  with  some  sort  of  emphasis,  “  an 
English  noble  gentleman  —  one  of  the  honourable  garrison." 

An  old  man's  step  was  now  heard  advancing,  so  slowly  thn,t  the  glim¬ 
mering  light  which  he  held  in  his  hand  was  visible  on  the  ruined  walls  of 
the  vault  some  time  before  it  showed  the  person  who  bore  it. 

The  shadow  of  the  old  man  was  also  projected  upon  the  illuminated  wall 
ere  his  person  came  in  view ;  his  dress  was  in  considerable  confusion, 
owing  to  his  having  been  roused  from  his  bed ;  and  since  artificial  light 
was  forbidden  by  the  regulations  of  the  garrison,  the  natives  of  Douglas 
Dale  spent  in  sleep  the  time  that  they  could  not  very  well  get  rid  of  by  any 
other  means.  The  sexton  was  a  tall  thin  man,  emaciated  by  years  and  by 
privations  ;  his  body  was  bent  habitually  by  his  occupation  of  grave-digging, 
and  his  eye  naturally  inclined  downward  to  the  scene  of  his  labours.  His 
hand  sustained  the  cruise  or  little  lamp,  which  he  held  so  as  to  throw  light 
upon  his  visitant ;  at  the  same  time  it  displayed  to  the  young  knight  the 
features  of  the  person  with  whom  he  was  now  confronted,  which,  though 
neither  handsome  nor  pleasing,  were  strongly  marked,  sagacious,  and  vene¬ 
rable,  indicating,  at  the  same  time,  a  certain  air  of  dignity,  which  age,  even 
mere  poverty,  may  be  found  occasionally  to  bestow,  as  conferring  that  last 
melancholy  species  of  independence  proper  to  those  whose  situation  can 
hardly  by  any  imaginable  means,  be  rendered  much  worse  than  years  and 
fortune  have  already  made  it.  The  habit  of  a  lay  brother  added  somewhat  • 
of  religious  importance  to  his  appearance. 

“  What  would  you  with  me,  young  man  ?"  said  the  sexton.  “  Your  youth¬ 
ful  features,  and  your  gay  dress,  bespeak  one  who  stands  in  need  of  my 
ministry  neither  for  himself  nor  for  others." 

“  I  am  indeed,"  replied  the  knight,  “  a  living  man,  and  therefore  need  not 
either  shovel  or  pick-axe  for  my  own  behoof.  I  am  not,  as  you  see,  attired 
in  mourning,  and  therefore  need  not  your  offices  in  behalf  of  any  friend ;  I 
would  only  ask  you  a  few  questions." 

“  What  you  would  have  done  must  needs  be  done,  you  being  at  present 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


321 


I 


one  of  our  rulers,  and,  as  I  think,  a  man  of  authority,^'  replied  the  sexton  ; 
“  follow  me  this  way  into  my  poor  habitation  ;  I  have  had  a  better  in 
my  day ;  and  yet,  Heaven  knows,  it  is  good  enough  for  me,  when  many 
men  of  much  greater  consequence  must  perforce  content  themselves  with 
worse/^ 

lie  opened  a  lowly  door,  which  was  fitted,  though  irregularly,  to  serve  as 
the  entrance  of  a  vaulted  apartment,  where  it  appeared  that  the  old  man 
held,  apart  from  the  living  world,  his  wretched  and  solitary  dwelling.* 
The  floor,  composed  of  paving  stones,  laid  together  with  some  accuracy,  and 
here  and  there  inscribed  with  letters  and  hieroglyphics,  as  if  they  had  once 
upon  a  time  served  to  distinguish  sepulchres,  was  indifferently  well  swept, 
and  a  fire  at  the  upper  end  directed  its  smoke  into  a  hole  which  served  for 
a  chimney.  The  spade  and  pick-axe,  (with  other  tools,)  which  the  cham¬ 
berlain  of  mortality  makes  use  of,  lay  scattered  about  the  apartment,  and, 
with  a  rude  stool  or  two,  and  a  table,  where  some  inexperienced  hand  had 
unquestionably  supplied  the  labours  of  the  joiner,  were  nearly  the  only  fur¬ 
niture,  if  we  include  the  old  man’s  bed  of  straw,  lying  in  a  corner,  and  dis¬ 
composed,  as  if  he  had  been  just  raised  from  it.  At  the  lower  end  of  the 
apartment,  the  wall  was  almost  entirely  covered  by  a  large  escutcheon,  such 
as  is  usually  hung  over  the  graves  of  men  of  very  high  rank,  having  the 
appropriate  quarters,  to  the  number  of  sixteen,  each  properly  blazoned  and 
distinct,  placed  as  ornaments  around  the  principal  armorial  coat  itself. 

“  Let  us  sit,”  said  the  old  man  ;  “  the  posture  will  better  enable  my  fail¬ 
ing  ears  to  apprehend  your  meaning,  and  the  asthma  will  deal  with  me 
more  mercifully  in  permitting  me  to  make  you  understand  mine.” 

A  peal  of  short  asthmatic  coughs  attested  the  violence  of  the  disorder 
which  he  had  last  named,  and  the  young  knight  followed  his  host’s  example, 
in  sitting  down  on  one  of  the  rickety  stools  by  the  side  of  the  fire.  The 
old  man  brought  from  one  corner  of  the  apartment  an  apron,  which  he  occa¬ 
sionally  wore,  full  of  broken  boards  in  irregular  pieces,  some  of  which  were 
covered  with  black  cloth,  or  driven  full  of  nails,  black,  as  it  might  happen, 
or  gilded.  .  • 

“  You  will  find  this  fresh  fuel  necessary,”  said  the  old  man,  “  to  keep 
some  degree  of  heat  within  this  waste  apartment ;  nor  are  the  vapours  of 
mortality,  with  which  this  vault  is  apt  to  be  filled,  if  the  fire  is  permitted 
to  become  extinct,  indifferent  to  the  lungs  of  the  dainty  and  the  healthy, 
like  your  worship,  though  to  me  they  are  become  habitual.  The  wood  will 
catch  fire,  although  it  is  some  time  ere  the  damps  of  the  grave  are  overcome 
by  the  drier  air,  and  the  warmth  of  the  chimney.” 

Accordingly,  the  relics  «of  mortality  with  which  the  old  man  had  heaped 
his  fireplace,  began  by  degrees  to  send  forth  a  thick  unctuous  vapour,  which 
at  length  leaped  to  light,  and  blazing  up  the  aperture,  gave  a  degree  of  live¬ 
liness  to  the  gloomy  scene.  The  blazonry  of  the  huge  escutcheon  met  and 
returned  the  rays  with  as  brilliant  a  reflection  as  that  lugubrious  object  was 
capable  of,  and  the  whole  apartment  looked  with  a  fantastic  gaiety,  strangely 
mingled  with  the  gloomy  ideas  which  its  ornaments  were  calculated  to  im¬ 
press  upon  the  imagination. 

“  You  are  astonished,”  said  the  old  man,  “  and  perhaps.  Sir  Knight,  you 
have  never  before  seen  these  relics  of  the  dead  applied  to  the  purpose  of 
•  rendering  the  living,  in  some  degree,  more  comfortable  than  their  condition 
would  otherwise  admit  of.” 

“Comfortable!”  returned  the  Knight  of  Valence,  shrugging  his  shoul¬ 
ders  ;  “  I  should  be  sorry,  old  man,  to  know  that  I  had  a  dog  that  was  as 
indifferently  quartered  as  thou  art,  whose  grey  hairs  have  certainly  seen 
better  days.” 

*  [This  is  a  most,  graphic  and  accurate  description  of  the  present  state  of  the  ruin.  Its  being  occupied  by 
the  sexton  as  a  dwelling-place,  and  the  whole  scene  of  the  old  man’s  interview  with  De  Valence,  may  be 
classed  with  our  illustrious  author’s  most  felicitous  imaginings.— iVb/e  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Stewart  of  Douglas.] 

VoL.  XII.  — 21 


322 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


“  It  may  be/’  answered  the  sexton,  “  and  it  may  be  otherwise  ;  but  it  was 
not,  I  presume,  concerning  my  own  history  that  your  worship  seemed  dis¬ 
posed  to  ask  me  some  questions ;  and  I  would  venture  to  enquire,  therefore, 
to  whom  they  have  relation  ?” 

“  I  will  speak  plainly  to  you,”  replied  Sir  Aymer,  “  and  you  will  at  once 
acknowledge  the  necessity  of  giving  a  short  and  distinct  reply.  I  have 
even  now  met  in  the  streets  of  this  village  a  person  only  shown  to  me  by  a 
single  flash  of  light,  who  had  the  audacity  to  display  the  armorial  insignia 
and  utter  the  war-cry  of  the  Douglasses ;  nay,  if  I  could  trust  a  transient 
glance,  this  daring  cavalier  had  the  features  and  the  dark  complexion  proper 
to  the  Douglas.  I  am  referred  to  thee  as  to  one  who  possesses  means  of 
explaining  this  extraordinary  circumstance,  which,  as  an  English  knight, 
and  one  holding  a  charge  under  King  Edward,  I  am  particularly  called 
upon  to  make  enquiry  into.” 

“  Let  me  make  a  distinction,”  said  the  old  man.  “  The  Douglasses  of 
former  generations  are  my  near  neighbours,  and,  according  to  my  supersti¬ 
tious  townsmen,  my  acquaintances  and  visitors ;  I  can  take  it  upon  my  con¬ 
science  to  be  answerable  for  their  good  behaviour,  and  to  become  bound 
that  none  of  the  old  barons,  to  whom  the  roots  of  that  mighty  tree  may,  it 
is  said,  be  traced,  will  again  disturb  with  their  war-cry  the  towns  or  villages 
of  their  native  country — not  one  will  parade  in  moonshine  the  black  armour 
which  has  long  rusted  upon  their  tombs. 

‘The  knights  are  dust, 

And  their  good  swords  are  rust; 

Their  souls  are  with  the  saints,  we  trust.’* 

Look  around,  Sir  Knight,  you  have  above  and  around  you  the  men  of  whom 
we  speak.  Beneath  us,  in  a  little  aisle,  (which  hath  not  been  opened  since 
these  thin  grey  locks  were  thick  and  brown,)  there  lies  the  first  man  whom 
I  can  name  as  memorable  among  those  of  this  mighty  line.  It  is  he  whom 
the  Thane  of  Athol  pointed  out  to  the  King  of  Scotland  as  Sholto  Dhuglass, 
or  the  dark  iron-coloured  man,  whose  exertions  had  gained  the  battle  for 
his  native  prince ;  and  who,  according  to  this  legend,  bequeathed  his  name 
to  our  dale  and  town,  though  others  say  that  the  race  assumed  the  name 
of  Douglass  from  the  stream  so  called  in  unrecorded  times,  before  they  had 
their  fastness  on  its  banks.  Others,  his  descendants,  called  Eachain,  or 
Hector  the  first,  and  Orodh,  or  Hugh,  William,  the  first  of  that  name,  and 
Gilmour,  the  theme  of  many  a  minstrel  song,  commemorating  achievements 
done  under  the  oriflamme  of  Charles  the  Great,  Emperor  of  France,  have 
all  consigned  themselves  to  their  last  sleep,  nor  has  their  memory  been  suffi¬ 
ciently  preserved  from  the  waste  of  time.  Somqf^hing  we  know  concerning 
their  great  deeds,  their  great  power,  and,  alas !  their  great  crimes.  Some¬ 
thing  we  also  know  of  a  Lord  of  Douglas  who  sat  in  a  parliament  at  Forfar, 
held  by  King  Malcolm  the  First,  and  we  are  aware  that  from  his  attach¬ 
ment  to  hunting  the  wild  hart,  he  built  himself  a  tower  called  Blackhouse, 
in  the  forest  of  Ettrick,  which  perhaps  still  exists.” 

“  I  crave  your  forgiveness,  old  man,”  said  the  knight,  “  but  I  have  no 
time  at  present  to  bestow  upon  the  recitation  of  the  pedigree  of  the  House 
of  Douglas.  A  less  matter  would  hold  a  well-breathed  minstrel  in  subject 
for  recitation  for  a  calendar  month,  Sundays  and  holidays  included.” 

*  [The  author  has  somewhat  altered  part  of  a  beautiful  unpublished  fragment  of  Coleridge :  — 

“Where  is  the  grave  of  Sir  Arthur  Orellan, — 

Where  may  the  grave  of  that  good  knight  be  ? 

By  the  marge  of  a  brook,  on  the  slope  of  Helvellyn, 

Under  the  boughs  of  a  young  birch  tree. 

The  Oak  that  in  summer  was  pleasant  to  hear, 

That  rustled  in  Autumn  all  withered  and  sear, 

That  whistled  and  groan’d  thro’  the  Winter  alone. 

He  hath  gone,  and  a  birch  in  his  place  is  grown. 

The  knight’s  bones  are  dust. 

His  good  sword  is  rust; 

His  spirit  is  with  the  saints,  we  trust.”  Edit.l 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


323 


“What  other  information  can  you  expect  from  me,”  said  the  sexton, 
“  than  that  respecting;  those  heroes,  some  of  whom  it  has  been  my  lot  to 
consign  to  that  eternal  rest,  which  will  for  ever  divide  the  dead  from  the 
duties  of  this  world  ?  I  have  told  you  where  the  race  sleep,  down  to  the 
reign  of  the  royal  Malcolm.  I  can  tell  you  also  of  another  vault,  in  which 
lie  Sir  John  of  Douglas-burn,  with  his  son  Lord  Archibald,  and  a  third 
AVilliam,  known  by  an  indenture  with  Lord  Abernethy.  Lastly,  I  can  tell 
you  of  him  to  whom  that  escutcheon,  with  its  appurtenances  of  splendour 
and  dignity,  justly  belong.  Do  you  envy  that  nobleman,  whom,  if  death 
were  in  the  sound,  I  would  not  hesitate  to  term  my  honourable  patron  ?  and 
have  you  any  design  of  dishonouring  his  remains  ?  It  will  be  a  poor  vic¬ 
tory  !  nor  does  it  become  a  knight  and  nobleman  to  come  in  person  to  enjoy 
such  a  triumph  over  the  dead,  against  whom,  when  he  lived,  there  were  few 
knights  dared  spur  their  horses.  He  fought  in  defence  of  his  country,  but 
he  had  not  the  good  fortune  of  most  of  his  ancestors,  to  die  on  the  field  of 
battle.  Captivity,  sickness,  and  regret  for  the  misfortunes  of  his  native 
land,  brought  his  head  to  the  grave  in  his  prison-house,  in  the  laud  of  the 
stranger.” 

The  old  man’s  voice  here  became  interrupted  by  emotion,  and  the  Eng¬ 
lish  knight  found  it  diflBcult  to  continue  his  examination  in  the  stern  fashion 
which  his  duty  required. 

“  Old  man,”  he  said,  “  I  do  not  require  from  thee  this  detail,  which  must 
be  useless  to  me,  as  well  as  painful  to  thyself.  Thou  dost  but  thy  duty  in 
rendering  justice  to  thy  ancient  lord  ;  but  thou  hast  not  yet  explained  to 
me  why  I  have  met  in  this  town,  this  very  night,  and  not  half  an  hour 
since,  a  person  in  the  arms,  and  bearing  the  complexion,  of  one  of  the  Black 
Douglasses,  who  cried  his  war-cry  as  if  in  contempt  of  his  conquerors.” 

“  Surely,”  replied  the  sexton,  “  it  is  not  my  business  to  explain  such  a 
fancy,  otherwise  than  by  supposing  that  the  natural  fears  of  the  Southron 
will  raise  the  spectre  of  a  Douglas  at  any  time,  when  he  is  within  sight  of 
their  sepulchre.  Methinks,  in  such  a  night  as  this,  the  fairest  cavalier 
would  wear  the  complexion  of  this  swarthy  race,  nor  can  I  hold  it  wonder¬ 
ful  that  the  war-cry  which  was  once  in  the  throats  of  so  many  thousands  in 
this  country,  should  issue  upon  occasion  from  the  mouth  of  a  single  cham¬ 
pion.” 

“You  are  bold,  old  man,”  returned  the  English  knight;  “do  you  con¬ 
sider  that  your  life  is  in  my  power,  and  that  it  may,  in  certain  cases,  be  my 
duty  to  inflict  death  with  that  degree  of  pain  at  which  humanity  shudders?” 

The  old  man  rose  up  slowly  in  the  light  of  the  blazing  fire,  displaying 
his  emaciated  features,  which  resembled  those  ascribed  by  artists  to  Saint 
Anthony  of  the  desert ;  and  pointing  to  the  feeble  lamp,  which  he  placed 
upon  the  coarse  table,  thus  addressed  his  interrogator,  with  an  appearance 
of  perfect  firmness,  and  something  even  resembling  dignity :  — 

“  Young  knight  of  England,  you  see  that  utensil  constructed  for  the  pur¬ 
pose  of  dispensing  light  amid  these  fatal  vaults, — it  is  as  frail  as  any  thing 
can  well  be,  whose  flame'is  supplied  by  living  element,  contained  in  a  frame 
composed  of  iron.  It  is  doubtless  in  your  power  entirely  to  end  its  service, 
by  destroying  the  frame,  or  extinguishing  the  light.  Threaten  it  with  such 
annihilation.  Sir  Knight,  and  see  whether  your  menace  will  impress  any 
sense  of  fear  either  on  the  element  or  the  iron.  Know  that  you  have  no 
more  power  over  the  frail  mortal  whom  you  threaten  with  similar  annihila¬ 
tion.  Y’^ou  may  tear  from  my  body  the  skin  in  which  it  is  now  swathed, 
but  although  my  nerves  might  glow  with  agony  during  the  inhuman  ope¬ 
ration,  it  would  produce  no  more  impression  on  me  than  flaying  on  the 
stag  which  an  arrow  has  previously  pierced  through  the  heart.  IMy  age 
sets  me  beyond  your  cruelty :  if  you  think  otherwise,  call  your  agents,  and 
commence  your  opera.tions ;  neither  threats  nor  inflictions  will  enable  you 


824 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


to  extort  from  me  any  thing  that  I  am  not  ready  to  tell  you  of  my  own 
accord/^ 

“You  trifle  with  me,  old  man,^’  said  De  Valence ;  “you  talk  as  if  you 
possessed  some  secret  respecting  the  motions  of  these  Douglasses,  who  are 
to  you  as  gods,  yet  you  communicate  no  intelligence  to  me  whatever.’^ 

“  You  may  soon  know,’^  replied  the  old  man,  “  all  that  a  poor  sexton  has 
to  communicate ;  and  it  will  not  increase  your  knowledge  respecting  the 
living,  though  it  may  throw  some  light  upon  my  proper  domains,  which  are 
those  of  the  dead.  The  spirits  of  the  deceased  Douglasses  do  not  rest  in 
their  graves  during  the  dishonour  of  their  monuments,  and  the  downfall  of 
their  house.  That,  upon  death,  the  greater  part  of  any  line  are  consigned 
to  the  regions  of  eternal  bliss,  or  of  never-ending  misery,  religion  will  not 
suffer  us  to  believe,  and  amidst  a  race  who  had  so  great  a  share  of  worldly 
triumph  and  prosperity,  we  must  suppose  there  have  existed  many  who 
have  been  justly  subjected  to  the  doom  of  an  intermediate  space  of  punish¬ 
ment.  You  have  destroyed  the  temples  which  were  built  by  their  posterity 
to  propitiate  Heaven  for  the  welfare  of  their  souls ;  you  have  silenced  the 
prayers  and  stopt  the  choirs,  by  the  mediation  of  which  the  piety  of  child¬ 
ren  had  sought  to  appease  the  wrath  of  Heaven  in  behalf  of  their  ances¬ 
tors,  subjected  to  expiatory  fires.  Can  you  wonder  that  the  tormented 
spirits,  thus  deprived  of  the  relief  which  had  been  proposed  to  them,  should 
not,  according  to  the  common  phrase,  rest  in  their  graves  ?  Can  you  won¬ 
der  they  should  show  themselves  like  discontented  loiterers  near  to  the 
places  which,  but  for  the  manner  in  which  you  have  prosecuted  your  re¬ 
morseless  warfare,  might  have  ere  now  afforded  them  rest?  Or  do  you 
marvel  that  these  fleshless  warriors  should  interrupt  your  marches,  and  do 
W'hat  else  their  airy  nature  may  permit  to  disturb  your  councils,  and  meet 
as  far  as  they  may  the  hostilities  which  you  make  it  your  boast  to  carry  on, 
as  well  against  those  who  are  deceased,  as  against  any  who  may  yet  survive 
your  cruelty 

“  Old  man,^^  replied  Aymer  de  Valence,  “  you  cannot  expect  that  I  am  to 
take  for  answer  a  story  like  this,  being  a  fiction  too  gross  to  charm  to  sleep 
a  schoolboy  tormented  with  the  toothache  ;  nevertheless,  I  thank  God  that 
thy  doom  does  not  remain  in  my  hands.  My  squire  and  two  archers  shall 
carry  thee  captive  to  the  worshipful  Sir  John  de  Walton,  Governor  of  the 
Castle  and  Valley,  that  he  may  deal  with  thee  as  seems  meet ;  nor  is  he  a 
person  to  believe  in  your  apparitions  and  ghosts  from  purgatory. — What  ho  ! 
Fabian !  Come  hither,  and  bring  with  thee  two  archers  of  the  guard.^^ 

Fabian  accordingly,  who  had  waited  at  the  entrance  of  the  ruined  build¬ 
ing,  now  found  his  way,  by  the  light  of  the  old  sexton's  lamp,  and  the 
sound  of  his  master's  voice,  into  the  singular  apartment  of  the  old  man,  the 
strange  decorations  of  which  struck  the  youth  with  great  surprise,  and 
some  horror. 

“  Take  the  two  archers  with  thee,  Fabian,"  said  the  Knight  of  Valence, 
“  and,  with  their  assistance,  convey  this  old  man,  on  horseback,  or  in  a 
litter,  to  the  presence  of  the  worshipful  Sir  John  de  Walton.  Tell  him 
what  we  have  seen,  which  thou  didst  witness  as  well  as  I ;  and  tell  him 
that  this  old  sexton,  whom  I  send  to  be  examined  by  his  superior  wisdom, 
seems  to  know  more  than  he  is  willing  to  disclose  respecting  our  ghostly 
cavalier,  though  he  will  give  us  no  account  of  him,  except  intimating  that 
he  is  a  spirit  of  the  old  Douglasses  from  purgatory,  to  which  Sir  John  de 
Walton  will  give  what  faith  he  pleases.  You  may  say,  that,  for  my  part, 
my  belief  is,  either  that  the  sexton  is  crazed  by  age,  want,  and  enthusiasm, 
or  that  he  is  connected  with  some  plot  which  the  country  people  are  hatch¬ 
ing.  You  may  also  say  that  I  shall  not  use  much  ceremony  with  the  youth 
under  the  care  of  the  Abbot  of  St.  Bride ;  there  is  something  suspicious  in 
all  the  occurrences  that  are  now  passing  around  us." 

Fabian  promised  obedience ;  and  the  knight,  pulling  him  aside,  gave  him 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


325 


an  additional  caution,  to  behave  with  attention  in  this  business,  seeing  he 
must  recollect  that  neither  the  judgment  of  himself,  nor  that  of  his  master, 
were  apparently  held  in  very  much  esteem  by  the  governor ;  and  that  it 
would  ill  become  them  to  make  any  mistake  in  a  matter  where  the  safety 
of  the  Castle  was  perhaps  concerned. 

“  Fear  me  not,  worshipful  sir,’'  replied  the  youth ;  “  I  am  returning  to 
pure  air  in  the  first  place,  and  a  good  fire  in  the  second,  both  acceptable 
exchanges  for  this  dungeon  of  suffocating  vapours  and  execrable  smells. 
You  may  trust  to  my  making  no  delay ;  a  very  short  time  will  carry  me 
back  to  Castle  Douglas,  even  moving  with  suitable  attention  to  this  old 
man’s  bones." 

“Use  him  humanely,"  answered  the  knight.  “And  thou,  old  man,  if 
thou  art  insensible  to  threats  of  personal  danger  in  this  matter,  remember, 
that  if  thou  art  found  paltering  with  us,  thy  punishment  will  perhaps  be 
more  severe  than  any  we  can  inflict  upon  thy  person." 

“Can  you  administer  the  torture  to  the  soul?"  said  the  sexton. 

“  As  to  thee,"  answered  the  knight,  “  we  have  that  power  ; — we  will  dis¬ 
solve  every  monastery  or  religious  establishment  held  for  the  souls  of  these 
Douglasses,  and  will  only  allow  the  religious  people  to  hold  their  residence 
there  upon  condition  of  their  praying  for  the  soul  of  King  Edward  the  First 
of  glorious  memory,  the  malleus  Scotorum ;  and  if  the  Douglasses  are 
deprived  of  the  ghostly  benefit  of  the  prayers  and  services  of  such  shrines, 
they  may  term  thy  obstinacy  the  cause." 

“  Such  a  species  of  vengeance,"  answered  the  old  man,  in  the  same  bold 
unsubdued  tone  which  he  had  hitherto  used,  “  were  more  worthy  of  the  in¬ 
fernal  fiends  than  of  Christian  men." 

The  squire  raised  his  hand.  The  knight  interposed:  “Forbear  him,"  he 
said,  “Fabian,  he  is  very  old,  and  perhaps  insane.  —  And  you,  sexton,  re¬ 
member  that  the  vengeance  threatened  is  lawfully  directed  towards  a  family 
which  have  been  the  obstinate  supporters  of  the  excommunicated  rebel,  who 
murdered  the  Red  Comyn  at  the  High  Church  in  Dumfries." 

So  saying,  Aymer  strode  out  of  the  ruins,  picking  his  way  with  much 
difficulty — took  his  horse,  which  he  found  at  the  entrance — repeated  a  cau¬ 
tion  to  Fabian,  to  conduct  himself  with  prudence  —  and,  passing  on  to  the 
south-western  gate,  gave  the  strongest  injunctions  concerning  the  necessity 
of  keeping  a  vigilant  watch,  both  by  patrols  and  by  sentinels,  intimating, 
at  the  same  time,  that  it  must  have  been  neglected  during  the  preceding 
part  of  the  evening.  The  men  murmured  an  apology,  the  confusion  of 
which  seemed  to  express  that  there  had  existed  some  occasion  for  the  re¬ 
primand. 

Sir  Aymer  then  proceeded  on  his  journey  to  Ilazelside,  his  train  dimi¬ 
nished  by  the  absence  of  Fabian  and  his  assistants.  After  a  hasty,  but  not 
a  short  journey,  the  knight  alighted  at  Thomas  Dickson’s,  where  he  found 
the  detachment  from  Ayr  had  arrived  before  him,  and  were  snugly  housed 
for  the  night.  lie  sent  one  of  the  archers  to  announce  his  approach  to  the 
Abbot  of  Saint  Bride  and  his  young  guest,  intimating  at  the  same  time,  that 
the  archer  must  keep  sight  of  the  latter  until  he  himself  arrived  at  the 
chapel,  which  would  be  instantly. 


2c 


826 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


€\m\n  tjiB  (Knitji. 

When  the  ni^htengale  singes,  the  wodes  waxes  grene, 

Lef,  and  gras,  and  blosnie,  springelh  in  April  I  wene. 

And  love  is  to  myne  herte  gone  with  one  speare  so  kene. 

Night  and  day  my  blood  hyt  drynkes,  mine  herte  deth  me  tene. 

3ISS.  Hail.  Quoted  by  Warton. 

Sir  Aymer  de  Valence  had  no  sooner  followed  his  archer  to  the  convent 
of  Saint  Bride,  than  he  summoned  the  abbot  to  his  presence,  who  came 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  loves  his  ease,  and  who  is  suddenly  called  from 
the  .couch  where  he  has  consigned  himself  to  a  comfortable  repose,  at  the 
summons  of  one  whom  he  does  not  think  it  safe  to  disobey,  and  to  whom  he 
would  not  disguise  his  sense  of  peevishness,  if  he  durst. 

“  It  is  a  late  ride,’'  he  said,  “  which  has  brought  your  worthy  honour 
hither  from  the  castle.  May  I  be  informed  of  the  cause,  after  the  arrange¬ 
ment  so  recently  gone  into  with  the  governor?” 

“It  is  my  hope,”  replied  the  knight,  “  that  you.  Father  Abbot,  are  not 
already  conscious  of  it ;  suspicions  are  afloat,  and  I  myself  have  this  night 
seen  something  to  confirm  them,  that  some  of  the  obstinate  rebels  of  this 
country  are  again  setting  afoot  dangerous  practices,  to  the  peril  of  the  gar¬ 
rison  ;  and  I  come,  father,  to  see  whether,  in  requital  of  many  fiivours  re¬ 
ceived  from  the  English  monarch,  you  will  not  merit  his  bounty  and  pro¬ 
tection,  by  contributing  to  the  discovery  of  the  designs  of  his  enemies.” 

“Assuredly  so,”  answered  Father  Jerome,  in  an  agitated  voice.  “Most 
unquestionably  my  information  should  stand  at  your  command  ;  that  is,  if 
I  knew  any  thing  the  communication  of  which  could  be  of  advantage  to 
you.” 

“  Father  Abbot,”  replied  the  English  knight,  “  although  it  is  rash  to  make 
myself  responsible  for  a  North-country  man  in  these  times,  yet  I  own  I  do 
consider  you  as  one  who  has  ever  been  faithfully  subject  to  the  King  of 
England,  and  I  willingly  hope  that  you  will  still  continue  so.” 

“  And  a  fine  encouragement  I  have  !”  said  the  abbot ;  “  to  be  called  out 
of  my  bed  at  midnight,  in  this  raw  weather,  to  undergo  the  examination  of 
a  knight,  who  is  the  youngest,  perhaps,  of  his  own  honourable  rank,  and 
who  will  not  tell  me  the  subject  of  the  interrogatories,  but  detains  me  on 
this  cold  pavement,  till,  according  to  the  opinion  of  Celsus,  the  podagra 
which  lurks  in  my  feet  may  be  driven  into  my  stomach,  and  then  good¬ 
night  to  abbacy  and  examinations  from  henceforward.” 

“Good  father,”  said  the  young  man,  “the  spirit  of  the  times  must  teach 
thee  patience  ;  recollect  that  I  can  feel  no  pleasure  in  this  duty,  and  that  if 
an  insurrection  should  take  place,  the  rebels,  who  are  sufficiently  displeased 
with  thee  for  acknowledging  the  English  monarch,  would  hang  thee  from 
thine  own  steeple  to  feed  the  crows ;  or  that,  if  thou  hast  secured  thy  peace 
by  some  private  compact  with  the  insurgents,  the  English  governor,  who 
will  sooner  or  later  gain  the  advantage,  will  not  fail  to  treat  thee  as  a  rebel 
to  his  sovereign.” 

“  It  may  appear  to  you,  my  noble  son,”  answered  the  abbot,  obviously 
discomposed,  “  that  I  am  hung  up,  in  this  case,  on  the  horns  of  the  dilemma 
which  you  have  stated  ;  nevertheless,  I  protest  to  you,  that  if  any  one  accuses 
me  of  conspiring  with  the  rebels  against  the  King  of  England,  I  am  ready, 
provided  you  give  me  time  to  swallow  a  potion  recommended  by  Celsus  in 
my  perilous  case,  to  answer  with  the  most  perfect  sincerity  every  question 
which  you  can  put  to  me  upon  that  subject.”  So  saying,  he  called  upon  a 
monk  who  had  attended  at  his  lev6e,  and  giving  him  a  large  key,  whispered 
something  in  his  ear.  The  cup  which  the  monk  brought  was  of  such  capa- 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


827 

city  as  proved  Cclsus’s  draught  required  to  be  administered  in  considerable 
quantity,  and  a  strong  smell  which  it  spread  through  the  apartment, 
accredited  the  knight’s  suspicion  that  the  medicine  chiefly  consisted  of 
what  were  then  termed  distilled  w'aters,  a  preparation  known  in  the  monas¬ 
teries  for  some  time  before  that  comfortable  secret  had  readied  the  laity  in 
general.  The  abbot,  neither  overawed  by  the  strength  nor  by  the  quantity 
of  the  potion,  took  it  otf  with  what  he  himself  would  have  called  a  feeling 
of  solace  and  pleasance,  and  his  voice  became  much  more  composed  ;  he 
signified  himself  as  comforted  extraordinarily” by  the  medicine,  and  willing 
to  proceed  to  answer  any  questions  which  could  be  put  to  him  by  his  gallant 
young  friend. 

“At  present,”  said  the  knight,  “you  are  aware,  father,  that  strangers 
travelling  through  this  country,  must  be  the  first  objects  of  our  suspicions 
and  enquiries.  What  is,  for  example,  your  own  opinion  of  the  youth  termed 
Augustine,  the  son,  or  calling  himself  so,  of  a  person  called  Bertram  the 
minstrel,  who  has  resided  for  some  days  in  your  convent?” 

The  abbot  heard  the  question  with  eyes  expressive  of  surprise  at  the 
quarter  from  which  it  came. 

“  Assuredly,”  said  he,  “  I  think  of  him  as  a  youth  who,  from  any  thing 
1  have  seen,  is  of  that  excellent  disposition,  both  with  respect  to  loyalty  and 
religion,  which  1  should  have  expected,  were  I  to  judge  from  the  estimable 
person  who  committed  him  to  my  care.” 

With  this  the  abbot  bowed  to  the  knight,  as  if  he  had  conceived  that  this 
repartee  gave  him  a  silencing  advantage  in  any  question  which  could  follow 
upon  that  subject ;  and  ho  was  probably,  therefore,  surprised  when  Sir 
Aymer  replied  as  follows  : 

“It  is  very  true,  Father  Abbot,  that  I  myself  did  recommend  this  strip¬ 
ling  to  you  as  a  youth  of  a  harmless  disposition,  and  with  respect  to  whom 
it  would  be  unnecessary  to  exercise  the  strict  vigilance  extended  to  others 
in  similar  circumstances  ;  but  the  evidence  which  seemed  to  me  to  vouch  for 
this  young  man’s  innocence,  has  not  appeared  so  satisfactory  to  my  superior 
and  commander ;  and  it  is  by  his  orders  that  I  now  make  fiirther  enquiries 
of  you.  You  must  think  they  are  of  consequence,  since  we  again  trouble 
you,  and  at  so  unwonted  an  hour.” 

“  I  can  only  protest  by  my  order,  and  by  the  veil  of  Saint  Bride,”  replied 
the  abbot,  the  spirit  of  Celsus  appearing  to  fail  his  pupil,  “that  whatever 
evil  may  be  in  this  matter,  is  totally  unknown  to  me  —  nor  could  it  be  ex¬ 
torted  from  me  by  racks  or  implements  of  torture.  Whatever  signs  of  dis¬ 
loyalty  may  have  been  evinced  by  this  young  man,  I  have  witnessed  none 
of  them,  although  I  have  been  strictly  attentive  to  his  behaviour.” 

“In  what  respect?’^  said  the  knight — “and  what  is  the  result  of  your 
observation  ?” 

“  My  answer,”  said  the  abbot  of  Saint  Bride,  “  shall  be  sincere  and  down¬ 
right.  The  youth  condescended  upon  payment  of  a  certain  number  of  gold 
crowns,  not  by  any  means  to  repay  the  hospitality  of  the  church  of  Saint 
Bride,  but  merely” - 

“Nay,  father,”  interrupted  the  knight,  “you  may  cut  that  short,  since 
the  governor  and  I  well  understand  the  terras  upon  which  the  monks  of 
Saint  Bride  exercise  their  hospitality.  In  what  manner,  it  is  more  neces¬ 
sary  to  ask,  was  it  received  by  this  boy  ?” 

“  With  the  utmost  gentleness  and  moderation,  noble  sir,”  answered  the 
abbot ;  “  indeed  it  appeared  to  me,  at  first,  that  he  might  be  a  troublesome 
guest,  since  the  amount  of  his  benevolence  to  the  convent  was  such  as  to 
encourage,  and,  in  some  degree,  to  authorise,  his  demanding  accommodation 
of  a  kind  superior  to  what  we  had  to  bestow.” 

“In  which  case,”  said  Sir  Aymer,  “you  would  have  had  the  discomfort 
of  returning  some  part  of  the  money  you  have  received  ?’' 

“  That,”  replied  the  abbot,  “  would  have  been  a  mode  of  settlement  con- 


328 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


trary  to  our  vows.  What  is  paid  to  the  treasury  of  Saint  Bridget,  cannot, 
agreeably  to  our  rule,  be  on  any  account  restored.  But,  noble  knight,  there 
was  no  occasion  for  this  ;  a  crust  of  white  bread  and  a  draught  of  milk 
were  diet  sufficient  to  nourish  this  poor  youth  for  a  day,  and  it  was  my  own 
anxiety  for  his  health  that  dictated  the  furnishing  of  his  cell  with  a  softer 
bed  and  coverlet  than  are  quite  consistent  with  the  rules  of  our  order.^’ 

“Now  hearken  to  what  I  say,  Sir  Abbot,  and  answer  me  truly, said  the 
Knight  of  Valence  —  “What  communication  has  this  youth  held  with  the 
inmates  of  your  convent,  or  with  those  beyond  your  house?  Search  your 
memory  concerning  this,  and  let  me  have  a  distinct  answer,  for  your  guest’s 
safety  and  your  own  depend  upon  it.” 

“  As  I  am  a  Christian  man,”  said  the  abbot,  “  I  have  observed  nothing 
which  could  give  ground  for  your  worship’s  suspicions.  The  boy  Augus¬ 
tine,  unlike  those  whom  I  have  observed  who  have  been  educated  in  the 
world,  shoAved  a  marked  preference  to  the  company  of  such  sisters  as  the 
house  of  Saint  Bride  contains,  rather  than  for  that  of  the  monks,  my  bre¬ 
thren,  although  there  are  among  them  pleasant  and  conversible  men.” 

“  Scandal,”  said  the  young  knight,  “  might  find  a  reason  for  that  prefer¬ 
ence.” 

“Not  in  the  case  of  the  sisters  of  Saint  Bridget,”  said  the  abbot,  “most 
of  whom  have  been  either  sorely  misused  by  time,  or  their  comeliness  de¬ 
stroyed  by  some  mishap  previously  to  their  being  received  into  the  seclusion 
of  the  house.” 

This  observation  the  good  father  made  with  some  internal  movement  of 
mirth,  which  was  apparently  excited  at  the  idea  of  the  sisterhood  of  Saint 
Bridget  becoming  attractive  to  any  one  by  dint  of  their  personal  beauty,  in 
which,  as  it  happened,  they  were  all  notably,  and  almost  ludicrously,  defi¬ 
cient.  The  English  knight,  to  whom  the  sisterhood  were  well  known,  felt 
also  inclined  to  smile  at  this  conversation. 

“I  acquit,”  he  said,  “the  pious  sisterhood  of  charming,  otherwise  than 
by  their  kind  wishes,  and  attention  to  the  wants  of  the  suffering  stranger.” 

“  Sister  Beatrice,”  continued  the  father,  resuming  his  gravity,  “  is  in¬ 
deed  blessed  with  a  winning  gift  of  making  comfits  and  syllabubs ;  but,  on 
minute  enquiry,  I  do  not  find  that  the  youth  has  tasted  any  of  them. 
Neither  is  sister  Ursula  so  hard-favoured  by  nature,  as  from  the  effects  of 
an  accident ;  but  your  honour  knows  that  when  a  woman  is  ugly,  the  men 
do  not  trouble  themselves  about  the  cause  of  her  hard  favour.  I  will  go, 
with  your  leave,  and  see  in  what  state  the  youth  now  is,  and  summon  him 
before  you.” 

“  I  request  you  to  do  so,  father,  for  the  affair  is  instant :  and  I  earnestly 
advise  you  to  watch,  in  the  closest  manner,  this  Augustine’s  behaviour: 
you  cannot  be  too  particular.  '  I  will  wait  your  return,  and  either  carry 
the  boy  to  the  castle,  or  leave  him  here,  as  circumstances  may  seem  to 
require.” 

The  abbot  bowed,  promised  his  utmost  exertions,  and  hobbled  out  of  the 
room  to  wait  on  the  youth  Augustine  in  his  cell,  anxious  to  favour,  if 
I  possible,  the  wishes  of  De  Valence,  whom  he  looked  upon  as  rendered  by 
circumstances  his  military  patron. 

He  remained  long  absent,  and  Sir  Aymer  began  to  be  of  opinion  that 
the  delay  was  suspicious,  when  the  abbot  returned  with  perplexity  and  dis¬ 
composure  in  his  countenance. 

“  I  crave  your  pardon  for  keeping  your  worship  waiting,”  said  Jerome, 
with  much  anxiety  ;  “  but  I  have  myself  been  detained  and  vexed  by  un¬ 
necessary  formalities  and  scruples  on  the  part  of  this  peevish  boy.  In  the 
first  place,  hearing  my  foot  approaching  his  bedroom,  my  youth,  instead  of 
undoing  the  door,  which  would  have  been  but  proper  respect  to  my  place, 
on  the  contrary  draws  a  strong  bolt  on  the  inside ;  and  this  fastening,  for¬ 
sooth,  has  been  placed  on  his  chamber  by  Ursula’s  command,  that  his 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


829 


Bliim])ors  might  be  suitably  respected.  I  intimated  to  him  as  I  best  could, 
that  he  must  attend  you  without  delay,  and  prepare  to  accompany  you  to 
the  Castle  of  Douglas ;  but  he  would  not  answer  a  single  word,  save  re¬ 
commending  to  me  patience,  to  which  I  was  fain  to  liave  recourse,  as  well 
as  your  archer,  whom  I  found  standing  sentinel  before  the  door  of  the  cell, 
and  contenting  himself  with  the  assurance  of  the  sisters  that  there  was  no 
other  passage  by  which  Augustine  could  make  his  escape.  At  length  the 
door  opens,  and  my  young  master  presents  himself  fully  arrayed  for  his 
journey.  The  truth  is,  1  think  some  fresh  attack  of  his  malady  has  affected 
the  youth  ;  he  may  perhaps  be  disturbed  with  some  touch  of  hypochondria, 
or  black  choler,  a  species  of  dotage  of  the  mind,  which  is  sometimes  found 
concomitant  with  and  symptomatic  of  this  disorder ;  but  he  is  at  present 
composed,  and  if  your  worship  chooses  to  see  him,  he  is  at  your  com¬ 
mand.^’ 

“  Call  him  hither,^’  said  the  knight.  And  a  considerable  space  of  time 
again  elapsed  ere  the  eloquence  of  the  abbot,  half  chiding  and  half  soothing, 
prevailed  on  the  lady,  in  her  adopted  character,  to  approach  the  parlour,  in 
which  at  last  she  made  her  appearance,  with  a  countenance  on  which  the 
marks  of  tears  might  still  be  discovered,  and  a  pettish  sullenness,  like  that 
of  a  boy,  or,  with  reverence,  that  of  a  girl,  who  is  determined  upon  taking 
her  own  way  in  any  matter,  and  equally  resolved  to  give  no  reason  for  her 
doing  so.  Her  hurried  lev6e  had  not  prevented  her  attending  closely  to  all 
the  mufllings  and  disguisings  by  which  her  pilgrim’s  dress  was  arranged, 
so  as  to  alter  her  appearance,  and  effectually  disguise  her  sex.  But  as 
civility  prevented  her  wearing  her  large  slouched  hat,  she  necessarily 
exposed  her  countenance  more  than  in  the  open  air ;  and  though  the  knight 
beheld  a  most  lovely  set  of  features,  yet  they  were  not  such  as  were  incon¬ 
sistent  with  the  character  she  had  adopted,  and  which  she  had  resolved 
upon  maintaining  to  the  last.  She  had,  accordingly,  mustered  up  a  degree 
01  courage  which  was  not  natural  to  her,  and  which  she  perhaps  supported 
by  hopes  which  her  situation  hardly  admitted.  So  soon  as  she  found  her¬ 
self  in  the  same  apartment  with  De  Valence,  she  assumed  a  style  of  manners, 
bolder  and  more  determined  than  she  had  hitherto  displayed. 

‘‘Your  worship,”  she  said,  addressing  him  even  before  he  spoke,  “is  a 
knight  of  England,  and  possessed,  doubtless,  of  the  virtues  which  become 
that  noble  station.  I  am  an  unfortunate  lad,  obliged,  by  reasons  which  I 
am  under  the  necessity  of  keeping  secret,  to  travel  in  a  dangerous  country, 
where  I  am  suspected,  without  any  just  cause,  of  becoming  accessory  to 
plots  and  conspiracies  which  are  contrary  to  my  own  interest,  and  which 
my  very  soul  abhors;  and  which  I  might  safely  abjure,  by  imprecating 
upon  myself  all  the  curses  of  our  religion  and  renouncing  all  its  promises, 
if  I  were  accessory  to  such  designs,  in  thought,  word,  or  deed.  Neverthe¬ 
less,  you,  who  will  not  believe  my  solemn  protestations,  are  about  to  pro¬ 
ceed  against  me  as  a  guilty  person,  and  in  so  doing  I  must  warn  you.  Sir 
Knight,  that  you  will  commit  a  great  and  cruel  injustice.” 

‘‘1  shall  endeavour  to  avoid  that,”  said  the  knight,  “  by  referring  the 
duty  to  Sir  John  de  Walton,  the  governor,  who  will  decide  what  is  to  bo 
done ;  in  this  case,  my  “only  duty  will  be  to  place  you  in  his  hands  at 
Douglas  Castle.” 

“  Must  you  do  this  ?”  said  Augustine. 

“  Certainly,”  replied  the  knight,  “  or  be  answerable  for  neglecting  my 
duty.” 

“  But  if  I  become  bound  to  answer  your  loss  with  a  large  sum  of  money, 
a  large  tract  of  land” - 

“No  treasure,  no  land, — supposing  such  at  your  disposal,”  answered  the 
knight,  “  can  atone  for  disgrace ;  and,  besides,  boy,  how  should  I  trust  to 
your  warrant,  were  my  avarice  such  as  would  induce  me  to  listen  to  such 
proposals  ?” 


2c2 


330 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


“  I  must  then  prepare  to  attend  you  instantly  to  the  Castle  of  Douglas 
and  the  presence  of  Sir  John  de  Walton?’^  replied  Augustine. 

“Young  man/’  answered  De  Valence,  “there  is  no  remedy,  since  if  you 
delay  me  longer,  I  must  carry  you  thither  by  force.” 

“  What  will  be  the  consequence  to  my  father?”  said  the  youth. 

“  That,”  replied  the  knight,  “  will  depend  exactly  on  the  nature  of  your 
confession  and  his ;  something  you  both  have  to  say,  as  is  evident  from  the 
terms  of  the  letter  Sir  John  de  Walton  conveyed  to  you  ;  and  I  assure  you, 
you  were  better  to  speak  it  out  at  once  than  to  risk  the  consequences  of 
more  delay.  I  can  admit  of  no  more  trifling ;  and,  believe  me,  that  your 
fate  will  be  entirely  ruled  by  your  own  frankness  and  candour.” 

“  I  must  prepare,  then,  to  travel  at  your  command,”  said  the  youth. 
“  But  this  cruel  disease  still  hangs  around  me,  and  Abbot  Jerome,  whose 
leech-craft  is  famous,  will  himself  assure  you  that  I  cannot  travel  without 
danger  of  ray  life  ;  and  that  while  I  was  residing  in  this  convent,  I  de¬ 
clined  every  opportunity  of  exercise  which  was  offered  me  by  the  kindness 
of  the  garrison  at  Hazelside,  lest  I  might  by  mishap  bring  the  contagion 
among  your  men.” 

“  The  youth  says  right,”  said  the  abbot ;  “  the  archers  and  men-at-arms 
have  more  than  once  sent  to  invite  this  lad  to  join  in  some  of  their  military 
games,  or  to  amuse  them,  perhaps,  with  some  of  his  minstrelsy ;  but  he 
has  uniformly  declined  doing  so ;  and,  according  to  my  belief,  it  is  the 
effects  of  this  disorder  which  have  prevented  his  accepting  an  indulgence 
"so  natural  to  his  age,  and  in  so  dull  a  place  as  the  convent  of  Saint  Bride 
must  needs  seem  to  a  youth  bred  up  in  the  world.” 

“  Do  you  then  hold,  reverend  father,”  said  Sir  Aymer,  “  that  there  is 
real  danger  in  carrying  this  youth  to  the  castle  to-night,  as  I  proposed?” 

“I  conceive  such  danger,”  replied  the  abbot,  “to  exist,  not  only  as  it 
may  occasion  the  relapse  of  the  poor  youth  himself,  but  as  particularly 
likely,  no  preparations  having  been  made,  to  introduce  the  infection 
among  your  honourable  garrison  ;  for  it  is  in  these  relapses,  more  than  in 
the  first  violence  of  the  malady,  that  it  has  been  found  most  contagious.” 

“Then,”  said  the  knight,  “you  must  be  content,  my  friend,  to  give  a 
share  of  your  room  to  an  archer,  by  way  of  sentinel.” 

“I  cannot  object,”  said  Augustine,  “provided  my  unfortunate  vicinity 
does  not  endanger  the  health  of  the  poor  soldier.” 

“  He  will  be  as  ready  to  do  his  duty,”  said  the  abbot,  “  without  the  door 
of  the  apartment  as  within  it ;  and  if  the  youth  should  sleep  soundly,  which 
the  presence  of  a  guard  in  his  chamber  might  prevent,  he  is  the  more  likely 
to  answer  your  purpose  on  the  morrow.” 

“  Let  it  be  so,”  said  Sir  Aymer  ;  “  so  you  are  sure  that  you  do  not  minister 
any  facility  of  escape.” 

“  The  apartment,”  said  the  monk,  “  hath  no  other  entrance  than  that 
which  is  guarded  by  the  archer ;  but,  to  content  you,  I  shall  secure  the  door 
in  your  presence.” 

“So  be  it,  then,”  said  the  Knight  of  Valence ;  “  this  done,  I  myself  will 
lie  down  without  doffing  my  mail-shirt,  and  snatch  a  sleep  till  the  ruddy 
dawn  calls  me  again  to  duty,  when  you,  Augustine,  will  hold  yourself  ready 
to  attend  me  to  our  Castle  of  Douglas.” 

The  bells  of  the  convent  summoned  the  inhabitants  and  inmates  of  Saint 
Bride  to  morning  prayers  at  the  first  peep  of  day.  When  this  duty  was 
over,  the  knight  demanded  his  prisoner.  The  abbot  marshalled  him  to  the 
door  of  Augustine’s  chamber.  The  sentinel  who  was  stationed  there,  armed 
with  a  brown-bill,  or  species  of  partisan,  reported  that  he  had  heard  no 
motion  in  the  apartment  during  the  whole  night.  The  abbot  tapped  at  the 
door,  but  received  no  answer.  He  knocked  again  louder,  but  the  silence 
was  unbroken  from  within. 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


331 


“What  moans  this?’^  said  the  reverend  ruler  of  the  convent  of  Saint 
Bride  ;  “  my  young  patient  has  certainly  fallen  into  a  syncope  or  swoon 

“I  wish,  Father  Abbot,’’  said  the  knight,  “that  he  may  not  have  made 
his  escape  instead,  an  accident  which  both  you  and  I  may  be  required  to 
answer,  since,  according  to  our  strict  duty,  we  ought  to  have  kept  sight  of 
him,  and  detained  him  in  close  custody  until  daybreak.” 

“  I  trust  your  worship,”  said  the  abbot,  “  only  anticipates  a  misfortune 
which  I  cannot  think  possible.” 

“  We  shall  speedily  see,”  said  the  knight ;  and  raising  his  voice,  he  called 
aloud,  so  as  to  be  heard  within,  “  Bring  crow-bars  and  levers,  and  burst  me 
that  door  into  splinters  without  an  instant’s  delay.” 

’J'he  loudness  of  his  voice,  and  the  stern  tone  in  which  he  spoke,  soon 
brought  around  him  the  brethren  of  the  house,  and  two  or  three  soldiers 
of  his  own  party,  who  were  already  busy  in  caparisoning  their  horses.  The 
displeasure  of  the  young  knight  was  manifested  by  his  flushed  features,  and 
the  abrupt  manner  in  which  he  again  repeated  his  commands  for  breaking 
open  the  door.  This  was  speedily  performed,  though  it  required  the  appli¬ 
cation  of  considerable  strength,  and  as  the  shattered  remains  fell  crashing 
into  the  apartment,  De  Valence  sprung,  and  the  abbot  hobbled,  into  the 
cell  of  the  prisoner,  which,  to  the  fultilment  of  their  worst  suspicions,  they 
found  empty. 


(CliO|ittr  tilt  (fUntntlj. 

Where  is  he  T  Hjis  the  deep  earth  swallow’d  him  ? 

Or  hath  he  melted  like  some  airy  phantom 

That  shuns  the  approach  of  mom  and  the  young  sun? 

Or  hath  he  wrapt  him  in  Cimmerian  darkness, 

And  pass’d  beyond  the  circuit  of  the  sight 
With  things  of  the  night’s  shadows? 

Anonymous. 

The  disappearance  of  the  youth,  whose  disguise  and  whose  fate  have,  we 
hope,  inclined  our  readers  to  take  some  interest  in  him,  will  require  some 
explanation  ere  we  proceed  with  the  other  personages  of  the  story,  and  we 
shall  set  about  giving  it  accordingly. 

When  Augustine  was  consigned  to  his  cell  for  the  second  time  on  the 
preceding  evening,  both  the  monk  and  the  young  Knight  of  Valence  had 
seen  the  key  turned  upon  him,  and  had  heard  him  secure  the  door  in  the 
inside  with  the  bolt  which  had  been  put  on  at  his  request  by  sister  Ursula, 
in  whose  affections  the  youth  of  Augustine,  his  extreme  handsomeness,  and, 
above  all,  his  indisposition  of  body  and  his  melancholy  of  mind,  had  gained 
him  considerable  interest. 

So  soon,  accordingly,  as  Augustine  re-entered  his  apartment,  he  was 
greeted  in  a  whisper  by  the  sister,  who,  during  the  interval  of  his  absence, 
had  contrived  to  slip  into  the  cell,  and  having  tappiced  herself  behind  the 
little  bed,  came  out  with  great  appearance  of  joy,  to  greet  the  return  of  the 
youth.  The  number  of  little  attentions,  the  disposal  of  holly  boughs,  and 
such  other  evergreens  as  the  season  permitted,  showed  the  anxiety  of  the 
holy  sisters  to  decorate  the  chamber  of  their  guest,  and  the  greetings  of 
sister  Ursula  expressed  the  same  friendly  interest,  at  the  same  time  inti¬ 
mating  that  she  was  already  in  some  degree  in  possession  of  the  stranger’s 
mystery. 

As  Augustine  and  the  holy  sister  were  busied  in  exchange  of  confidence, 
the  extraordinary  dificrence  between  their  countenances  and  their  persons 


332 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


must  have  struck  any  one  who  might  have  been  accidentally  a  witness  of 
their  interview.  The  dark  pilgrim’s  robe  of  the  disguised  female  was  not 
a  stronger  contrast  to  the  white  woollen  garment  worn  by  the  votaress  of 
Saint  Bride,  than  the  visage  of  the  nun,  seamed  with  many  a  ghastly  scar, 
and  the  light  of  one  of  her  eyes  extinguished  for  ever,  causing  it  to  roll  a 
sightless  luminary  in  her  head,  was  to  the  beautiful  countenance  of  Augus¬ 
tine,  now  bent  with  a  confidential,  and  even  affectionate  look,  upon  the 
extraordinary  features  of  her  companion. 

“You  know,”  said  the  supposed  Augustine,  “the  principal  part  of  my 
story  ;  can  you,  or  will  you,  lend  me  your  assistance  ?  If  not,  my  dearest 
sister,  you  must  consent  to  witness  my  death,  rather  than  my  shame.  Yes, 
sister  Ursula,  I  will  not  be  pointed  at  by  the  finger  of  scorn,  as  the  thought¬ 
less  maiden  who  sacrificed  so  much  for  a  young  man,  of  whose  attachment 
she  was  not  so  well  assured  as  she  ought  to  have  been.  I  will  not  be 
dragged  before  De  Walton,  for  the  purpose  of  being  compelled,  by  threats 
of  torture,  to  declare  myself  the  female  in  honour  of  whom  he  holds  the 
Dangerous  Castle.  No  doubt,  he  might  be  glad  to  give  his  hand  in  wed¬ 
lock  to  a  damsel  whose  dowry  is  so  ample;  but  who  can  tell  whether  he  will 
regard  me  with  that  respect  which  every  woman  would  wish  to  command, 
or  pardon  that  boldness  of  which  I  have  been  guilty,  even  though  its  conse¬ 
quences  have  been  in  his  own  favour?” 

“Nay,  my  darling  daughter,”  answered  the  nun,  “comfort  yourself;  for 
in  all  I  can  aid  you,  be  assured  I  will.  My  means  are  somewhat  more  than 
my  present  situation  may  express,  and,  be  assured,  they  shall  be  tried  to 
the  uttermost.  Methinks,  I  still  hear  that  lay  which  you  sung  to  the  other 
sisters  and  myself,  although  I  alone,  touched  by  feelings  kindred  to  yours, 
had  the  address  to  comprehend  that  it  told  your  own  tale.” 

“I  am  yet  surprised,”  said  Augustine,  speaking  beneath  her  breath,  “how 
I  had  the  boldness  to  sing  in  your  ears  the  lay,  which,  in  fact,  was  the  his¬ 
tory  of  my  disgrace.” 

“  Alas  !  that  you  will  say  so,”  returned  the  nun  ;  “  there  was  not  a  word 
but  what  resembled  those  tales  of  love  and  of  high-spirited  daring  which 
the  best  minstrels  love  to  celebrate,  and  the  noblest  knights  and  maidens 
weep  at  once  and  smile  to  hear.  The  Lady  Augusta  of  Berkely,  a  great 
heiress,  according  to  the  world,  both  in  land  and  movable  goods,  becomes 
the  King’s  ward  by  the  death  of  her  parents ;  and  thus  is  on  the  point  of 
being  given  away  in  marriage  to  a  minion  of  the  King  of  England,  whom 
.  in  these  Scottish  valleys,  we  scruple  not  to  call  a  peremptory  tyrant.” 

“I  must  not  say  so,  my  sister,”  said  the  pilgrim;  “and  yet,  true  it  is, 
that  the  cousin  of  the  obscure  parasite  Gaviston,  on  whom  the  king  wished 
to  confer  my  poor  hand,  was  neither  by  birth,  merit,  nor  circumstance, 
worthy  of  such  an  alliance.  Meantime,  I  heard  of  the  fame  of  Sir  John 
de  Walton;  and  I  heard  of  it  not  with  the  less  interest  that  his  feats  of 
chivalry  were  said  to  adorn  a  knight,  who,  rich  in  everything  else,  was  poor 
in  worldly  goods,  and  in  the  smiles  of  fortune.  I  saw  this  Sir  John  de 
Walton,  and  I  acknowledge  that  a  thought,  which  had  already  intruded 
itself  on  my  imagination,  became,  after  this  interview,  by  frequent  recur¬ 
rence,  more  familiar,  and  more  welcome  to  me.  Methought  that  the  daughter 
of  a  powerful  English  family,  if  she  could  give  away  with  her  hand  such 
wealth  as  the  world  spoke  of,  would  more  justly  and  honourably  bestow  it 
in  remedying  the  errors  of  fortune  in  regard  to  a  gallant  knight  like  De 
AValton,  than  in  patching  the  revenues  of  a  beggarly  Frenchman,  whose 
only  merit  was  in  being  the  kinsman  of  a  man  who  was  very  generally  de¬ 
tested  by  the  whole  kingdom  of  England,  excepting  the  infatuated  monarch 
himself.” 

“Nobly  designed,  my  daughter,”  said  the  nun  ;  “  what  more  worthy  of  a 
noble  heart,  possessing  riches,  beauty,  birth,  and  rank,  than  to  confer  them 
all  upon  indigent  and  chivalrous  merit?” 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


333 


“  Such,  dearest  sister,  was  my  intention, replied  Augustine ;  “  but  I 
have,  perhaps,  scarce  sufficiently  explained  the  manner  in  which  I  meant 
to  proceed.  By  the  advice  of  a  minstrel  of  our  house,  the  same  who  is  now 
prisoner  at  Douglas,  I  caused  exhibit  a  large  feast  upon  Christmas  eve,  and 
sent  invitations  abroad  to  the  young  knights  of  noble  name  who  were  known 
to  spend  their  leisure  in  quest  of  arms  and  adventures.  When  the  tables 
were  drawn,  and  the  feast  concluded,  Bertram,  as  had  been  before  de¬ 
vised,  was  called  upon  to  take  his  harp.  He  sung,  receiving  from  all  who 
were  present  the  attention  due  to  a  minstrel  of  so  much  fame.  The  theme 
which  he  chose,  was  the  frequent  capture  of  this  Douglas  Castle,  or,  as  the 
poet  termed  it,  Castle  Dangerous.  ‘  Where  are  the  champions  of  the  re¬ 
nowned  Edward  the  First,^  said  the  minstrel,  ‘  when  the  realm  of  England 
cannot  furnish  a  man  brave  enough,  or  sufficiently  expert  in  the  wars,  to 
defend  a  miserable  hamlet  of  the  North  against  the  Scottish  rebels,  who 
have  vowed  to  retake  it  over  our  soldiers’  heads  ere  the  year  rolls  to  an  end? 
Where  are  the  noble  ladies,  whose  smiles  used  to  give  countenance  to  the 
Knights  of  Saint  George’s  Cross  ?  Alas  !  the  spirit  of  love  and  of  chivalry 
is  alike  dead  amongst  us — our  knights  are  limited  to  petty  enterprises — and 
our  noblest  heiresses  are  given  as  prizes  to  strangers,  as  if  their  own  country 
had  no  one  to  deserve  them.’  —  Here  stopt  the  harp;  and  I  shame  to  say, 
that  I  myself,  as  if  moved  to  enthusiasm  by  the  song  of  the  minstrel,  arose, 
and  taking  from  my  neck  the  chain  of  gold  which  supported  a  crucifix  of 
special  sanctity,  I  made  my  vow,  always  under  the  King’s  permission,  that 
1  would  give  my  hand,  and  the  inheritance  of  my  fathers,  to  the  good  knight, 
being  of  noble  birth  and  lineage,  who  should  keep  the  Castle  of  Douglas  in 
the  King  of  England’s  name,  for  a  year  and  a  day.  I  sat  down,  my  dearest 
sister,  deafened  with  the  jubilee  in  which  my  guests  expressed  their  applause 
of  my  supposed  patriotism.  Yet  some  degree  of  pause  took  place  amidst 
the  young  knights,  who  might  reasonably  have  been  supposed  ready  to 
embrace  this  offer,  although  at  the  risk  of  being  encumbered  with  Augusta 
of  Berkely.” 

“  Shame  on  the  man,”  said  sister  Ursula,  “  who  should  think  so !  Put 
your  beauty  alone,  ray  dearest,  into  consideration,  and  a  true  knight  ought 
to  have  embraced  the  dangers  of  twenty  Castles  of  Douglas,  rather  than 
let  such  an  invaluable  opportunity  of  gaining  your  favour  be  lost.” 

“  It  may  be  that  some  in  reality  thought  so,”  said  the  pilgrim  ;  “  but  it 
was  supposed  that  the  king’s  favour  might  be  lost  by  those  who  seemed  too 
anxious  to  thwart  his  royal  purpose  upon  his  ward’s  hand.  At  any  rate, 
greatly  to  my  joy,  the  only  person  who  availed  himself  of  the  offer  I  had 
made  was  Sir  John  de  Walton  ;  and  as  his  acceptance  of  it  was  guarded  by 
a  clause,  saving  and  reserving  the  king’s  approbation,  I  hope  he  has  not  suf¬ 
fered  any  diminution  of  Edward’s  favour.” 

“  Assure  yourself,  noble  and  high-spirited  young  lady,”  replied  the  nun, 
“that  there  is  no  fear  of  thy  generous  devotion  hurting  thy  lover  with  the 
King  of  England.  Something  we  hear  concerning  worldly  passages,  even 
in  this  remote  nook  of  Saint  Bride’s  cloister ;  and  the  report  goes  among 
the  English  soldiers  that  their  king  was  indeed  offended  at  your  putting 
your  will  in  opposition  to  his  own  ;  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  this  preferred 
lover,  Sir  John  de  Walton,  was  a  man  of  such  extensive  fame,  and  your 
offer  was  so  much  in  the  character  of  better  but  not  forgotten  times,  that 
even  a  king  could  not  at  the  beginning  of  a  long  and  stubborn  war  deprive 
an  errant  cavalier  of  his  bride,  if  she  should  be  duly  won  by  his  sword  and 
lance.” 

“Ah  !  dearest  sister  Ursula!”  sighed  the  disguised  pilgrim,  “but,  on  the 
other  hand,  how  much  time  must  pass  by  in  the  siege,  by  defeating  which 
that  suit  must  needs  be  advanced?  AVhile  I  sat  in  my  lonely  castle,  tidings 
came  to  astound  me  with  the  numerous,  or  rather  the  constant  dangers, 
with  which  my  lover  was  surrounded,  until  at  length,  in  a  moment  I  think 


334 


WAVER LEY  NOVELS. 


of  madness,  I  resolved  to  sot  out  in  this  masculine  disguise  ;  and  having 
myself  with  my  own  eyes^seen  in  what  situation  I  had  placed  my  knight,  I 
determined  to  take  such  measures  in  respect  to  shortening  the  term  of  his 
trial,  or  otherwise,  as  a  sight  of  Douglas  Castle,  and  —  why  should  I  deny 
it?  —  of  Sir  John  de  AValton,  might  suggest.  Perhaps  you,  my  dearest 
sister,  may  not  so  well  understand  my  being  tempted  into  flinching  from 
the  resolution  which  I  had  laid  down  for  my  own  honour,  and  that  of  my 
lover ;  but  consider,  that  my  resolution  was  the  consequence  of  a  moment 
of  excitation,  and  that  the  course  which  I  adopted  was  the  conclusion  of  a 
long,  wasting,  sickening  state  of  uncertainty,  the  effect  of  which  was  to 
weaken  the  nerves  which  were  once  highly  strung  with  love  of  my  country, 
as  I  thought ;  but  in  reality,  alas !  with  fond  and  anxious  feelings  of  a  more 
selfish  description.” 

“  Alas !”  said  sister  Ursula,  evincing  the  strongest  symptoms  of  interest 
and  compassion,  “  am  I  the  person,  dearest  child,  whom  you  suspect  of  in¬ 
sensibility  to  the  distresses  which  are  the  fruit  of  true  love  ?  Do  you  sup¬ 
pose  that  the  air  which  is  breathed  within  these  walls  has  the  property  upon 
the  female  heart,  of  such  marvellous  fountains  as  they  say  change  into  stone 
the  substances  which  are  immersed  into  their  waters?  Hear  my  tale,  and 
judge  if  it  can  be  thus  with  one  who  possesses  my  causes  of  grief.  And 
do  not  fear  for  loss  of  time ;  we  must  let  our  neighbours  at  Hazelside  be 
settled  for  the  evening,  ere  I  furnish  you  with  the  means  of  escape  ;  and 
you  must  have  a  trusty  guide,  for  whose  fidelity  I  will  be  responsible,  to 
direct  your  path  through  these  woods,  and  protect  you  in  case  of  any  danger, 
too  likely  to  occur  in  these  troublesome  times.  It  will  thus  be  nigh  an  hour 
ere  you  depart ;  and  sure  I  am  that  in  no  manner  can  you  spend  the  time 
better  than  in  listening  to  distresses  too  similar  to  your  own,  and  flowing 
from  the  source  of  disappointed  affection  which  you  must  needs  sympathize 
with.” 

The  distresses  of  the  Lady  Augusta  did  not  prevent  her  being  in  some 
degree  affected,  almost  ludicrously,  with  the  singular  contrast  between  the 
hideous  countenance  of  this  victim  of  the  tender  passion,  and  the  cause  to 
which  she  imputed  her  sorrows  ;  but  it  was  not  a  moment  for  giving  way  to 
a  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  which  would  have  been  in  the  highest  degree 
oflTensive  to  the  sister  of  Saint  Bride,  whose  good-will  she  had  so  many 
reasons  to  conciliate.  She  readily,  therefore,  succeeded  in  preparing  her¬ 
self  to  listen  to  the  votary  with  an  appearance  of  sympathy,  which  might 
reward  that  which  she  had  herself  experienced  at  the  hands  of  sister  Ursula; 
while  the  unfortunate  recluse,  with  an  agitation  which  made  her  ugliness 
still  more  conspicuous,  narrated,  nearly  in  a  whisper,  the  following  circum¬ 
stances  : — 

“My  misfortunes  commenced  long  before  I  was  called  sister  Ursula,  or 
secluded  as  a  votaress  within  these  walls.  My  father  was  a  noble  Norman, 
who,  like  many  of  his  countrymen,  sought  and  found  fortune  at  the  court  of 
the  King  of  Scotland.  He  was  endowed  with  the  sheriffdom  of  this  county, 
and  Maurice  de  Hattely,  or  Ilautlieu,  was  numbered  among  the  wealthy 
and  powerful  barons  of  Scotland.  AVherefore  should  I  deny  it,  that  the 
daughter  of  this  baron,  then  called  Margaret  de  Hautlieu,  was  also  distin- 
tinguished  among  the  great  and  fair  of  the  land  ?  It  can  be  no  censurable 
vanity  which  provokes  me  to  speak  the  truth,  and  unless  I  tell  it  myself, 
you  could  hardly  suspect  what  a  resemblance  I  once  bore  even  to  the  lovely 
Lady  Augusta  of  Berkely.  About  this  time  broke  out  those  unfortunate 
feuds  of  Bruce  and  Baliol,  which  have  been  so  long  the  curse  of  this  coun¬ 
try.  My  father,  determined  in  his  choice  of  party  by  the  arguments  of  his 
wealthy  kinsmen  at  the  court  of  Edward,  embraced  with  passion  the  faction 
of  the  English  interest,  and  became  one  of  the  keenest  partisans,  at  first  of 
John  Baliol,  and  afterwards  of  the  English  monarch.  None  among  the 
Anglocised-Scottish,  as  his  party  was  called,  were  so  zealous  as  he  for  the 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


335 


red  cross,  and  no  one  was  more  detested  by  his  countrymen  who  followed 
the  national  standard  of  Saint  Andrew  and  the  patriot  Wallace.  Among 
those  soldiers  of  the  soil,  Malcolm  Fleming  of  Biggar  was  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  by  his  noble  birth,  his  high  acquirements,  and  his  fame  in 
chivalry.  I  saw  him  ;  and  the  ghastly  spectre  who  now  addresses  you  must 
not  be  ashamed  to  say,  that  she  loved,  and  was  beloved  by,  one  of  the  hand¬ 
somest  youths  in  Scotland.  Our  attachment  was  discovered  to  my  father 
almost  ere  we  had  owned  it  to  each  other,  and  he  was  furious  both  against 
my  lover  and  myself ;  he  placed  me  under  the  charge  of  a  religious  woman 
of  this  rule,  and  I  was  immured  within  the  house  of  Saint  Bride,  where  my 
father  shamed  not  to  announce  he  would  cause  me  to  take  the  veil  by  force, 
unless  I  agreed  to  wed  a  youth  bred  at  the  English  court,  his  nephew ;  and, 
as  Heaven  had  granted  him  no  son,  the  heir,  as  he  had  resolved,  of  the 
house  of  Ilautlieu.  I  was  not  long  in  making  my  election.  I  protested 
that  death  should  be  my  choice,  rather  than  any  other  husband  excepting 
Malcolm  Fleming,  Neither  was  my  lover  less  faithful ;  he  found  means  to 
communicate  to  me  a  particular  night  on  which  he  proposed  to  attempt  to 
storm  the  nunnery  of  Saint  Bride,  and  carry  me  from  hence  to  freedom  and 
the  greenwood,  of  which  AFallace  was  generally  called  the  king.  In  an 
evil  hour — an  hour  I  think  of  infatuation  and  witchery  —  I  suffered  the 
abbess  to  wheedle  the  secret  out  of  me,  which  I  might  have  been  sensible 
would  appear  more  horribly  flagitious  to  her  than  to  any  other  woman  that 
breathed  ;  but  I  had  not  taken  the  vows,  and  I  thought  Wallace  and  Fleming 
had  the  same  charms  for  every  body  as  for  me,  and  the  artful  woman  gave 
me  reason  to  believe  that  her  loyalty  to  Bruce  was  without  a  flaw  of  sus¬ 
picion,  and  she  took  part  in  a  plot  of  w'hich  my  freedom  was  the  object. 
The  abbess  engaged  to  have  the  English  guards  removed  to  a  distance,  and 
in  appearance  the  troops  were  withdrawn.  Accordingly,  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  appointed,  the  window  of  my  cell,  which  was  two  stories  from  the 
ground,  was  opened  without  noise;  and  never  were  my  eyes  more  gladdened 
than,  as  ready  disguised  and  arrayed  for  flight,  even  in  a  horseman’s  dress, 
like  yourself,  fairest  Lady  Augusta,  I  saw  Malcolm  Fleming  spring  into  the 
apartment,  lie  rushed  towards  me ;  but  at  the  same  time  my  father  with 
ten  of  his  strongest  men  filled  the  room,  and  cried  their  war-cry  of  Baliol. 
Blow'S  were  instantly  dealt  on  every  side.  A  form  like  a  giant,  however, 
appeared  in  the  midst  of  the  tumult,  and  distinguished  himself,  even  to  my 
half-giddy  eye,  by  the  ease  with  which  he  bore  down  and  dispersed  those 
who  fought  against  our  freedom.  My  father  alone  offered  an  opposition 
which  threatened  to  prove  fatal  to  him  ;  for  Wallace,  it  was  said,  could  foil 
any  Hvo  martial  champions  that  ever  drew  sword.  Brushing  from  him  the 
armed  men,  as  a  lady  would  drive  away  with  her  fan  a  swarm  of  trouble¬ 
some  flies,  he  secured  me  in  one  arm,  used  his  other  for  our  mutual  pro¬ 
tection,  and  I  found  myself  in  the  act  of  being  borne  in  safety  down  the 
ladder  by  which  my  deliverers  had  ascended  from  without, — but  an  evil  fate 
awaited  this  attempt. 

“  My  father,  whom  the  Champion  of  Scotland  had  spared  for  my  sake,  or 
rather  for  Fleming’s,  gained  by  his  victor’s  compassion  and  lenity  a  fearful 
advantage,  and  made  a  remorseless  use  of  it.  Having  only  his  left  hand  to 
oppose  to  the  maniac  attempts  of  my  father,  even  the  strength  of  Wallace 
could  not  prevent  the  assailant,  with  all  the  energy  of  desperation,  from 
throwing  down  the  ladder,  on  which  his  daughter  was  perched  like  a  dove 
in  the  grasp  of  an  eagle.  The  champion  saw  our  danger,  and  exerting  Ids 
inimitable  strength  and  agility,  cleared  himself  and  me  from  the  ladder,  and 
leaped  free  of  the  moat  of  the  convent,  into  which  we  must  otherwise  have 
l)cen  precipitated.  The  Champion  of  Scotland  was  saved  in  the  desperate 
attempt,  but  1  who  fell  among  a  heap  of  stones  and  rubbish,  I  the  disobe¬ 
dient  daughter,  wellnigh  the  apostate  vestal,  waked  only  from  a  long  bed 
of  sickness,  to  find  myself  the  disfigured  wretch,  which  you  now  see  me.  I 


336 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


then  learned  that  Malcolm  had  escaped  from  the  fray,  and  shortly  after  I 
heard,  with  feelings  less  keen  perhaps  than  they  ought  to  have  been,  that 
iny  father  was  slain  in  one  of  the  endless  battles  which  took  place  between 
the  contending  factions.  If  he  had  lived,  I  might  have  submitted  to  the 
completion  of  my  fate ;  but  since  he  was  no  more,  I  felt  that  it  would  be  a 
preferable  lot  to  be  a  beggar  in  the  streets  of  a  Scottish  village,  than  an 
abbess  in  this  miserable  house  of  Saint  Bride  ;  nor  was  even  that  poor  object 
of  ambition,  on  which  my  father  used  to  expatiate  when  desirous  of  per¬ 
suading  me  to  enter  the  monastic  state  by  milder  means  than  throwing  me 
off  the  battlements,  long  open  to  me.  The  old  abbess  died  of  a  cold  caught 
the  evening  of  the  fray ;  and  the  place,  which  might  have  been  kept  open 
until  I  was  capable  of  filling  it,  was  disposed  of  otherwise,  when  the  English 
thought  fit  to  reform,  as  they  termed  it,  the  discipline  of  the  house ;  and 
instead  of  electing  a  new  abbess,  sent  hither  two  or  three  friendly  monks, 
who  have  now  the  absolute  government  of  the  community,  and  wield  it 
entirely  according  to  the  pleasure  of  the  English.  But  I,  for  one,  who  have 
had  the  honour  to  be  supported  by  the  arms  of  the  Champion  of  my  coun¬ 
try,  will  not  remain  here  to  be  commanded  by  this  Abbot  Jerome.  I  will 
go  forth,  nor  do  I  fear  to  find  relations  and  friends,  who  will  provide  a  more 
fitting  place  of  refuge  for  Margaret  de  Ilautlieu  than  the  convent  of  Saint 
Bride  ;  you,  too,  dearest  lady,  shall  obtain  your  freedom,  and  it  will  be  well 
to  leave  such  information  as  will  make  Sir  John  de  Walton  aware  of  the 
devotion  with  which  his  happy  fate  has  inspired  you.^^ 

“It  is  not,  then,  your  own  intention,’'  said  the  Lady  Augusta,  “to  return 
into  the  world  again,  and  you  are  about  to  renounce  the  lover,  in  a  union 
with  whom  you  and  he  once  saw  your  joint  happiness?” 

“  It  is  a  question,  my  dearest  child,”  said  sister  Ursula,  “  which  I  dare 
not  ask  myself,  and  to  which  I  am  absolutely  uncertain  what  answer  I  should 
return.  I  have  not  taken  the  final  and  irrevocable  vows  ;  I  have  done 
nothing  to  alter  my  situation  with  regard  to  Malcolm  Fleming.  He  also, 
by  the  vows  plighted  in  the  Chancery  of  Heaven,  is  my  affianced  bridegroom, 
nor  am  I  conscious  that  I  less  deserve  his  faith,  in  any  respect  now,  than  at 
the  moment  when  it  was  pledged  to  me ;  but,  I  confess,  dearest  lady,  that 
rumours  have  reached  me,  which  sting  me  to  the  quick ;  the  reports  of  my 
wounds  and  scars  are  said  to  have  estranged  the  knight  of  my  choice.  I 
am  now,  indeed,  poor,”  she  added,  with  a  sigh,  “  and  I  am  no  longer  pos¬ 
sessed  of  those  personal  charms,  which  they  say  attract  the  love,  and  fix 
the  fidelity,  of  the  other  sex.  I  teach  myself,  therefore,  to  think,  in  my 
moments  of  settled  resolution,  that  all  betwixt  me  and  Malcolm  Fleming  is 
at  an  end,  saving  good  wishes  on  the  part  of  both  towards  the  other;  and 
yet  there  is  a  sensation  in  my  bosom  which  whispers,  in  spite  of  my  reason, 
that  if  I  absolutely  believed  that  which  I  now  say,  there  would  be  no  object 
on  earth  worthy  my  living  for  in  order  to  attain  it.  This  insinuating  pre¬ 
possession  whispers,  to  my  secret  soul,  and  in  very  opposition  to  my  reason 
and  understanding,  that  Malcolm  Fleming,  who  could  pledge  his  all  upon 
the  service  of  his  country,  is  incapable  of  nourishing  the  versatile  affection 
of  an  ordinary,  a  coarse,  or  a  venal  character.  Methinks,  were  the  difference 
upon  his  part  instead  of  mine,  he  would  not  lose  his  interest  in  my  eyes, 
because  he  was  seamed  with  honourable  scars,  obtained  in  asserting  the 
freedom  of  his  choice,  but  that  such  wounds  would,  in  my  opinion,  add  to 
his  merit,  whatever  they  took  away  from  his  personal  comeliness.  Ideas 
rise  on  my  soul,  as  if  Malcolm  and  Margaret  might  yet  be  to  each  other  all 
that  their  affections  once  anticipated  with  so  much  security,  and  that  a 
change,  which  took  nothing  from  the  honour  and  virtue  of  the  beloved  per¬ 
son,  must  rather  add  to,  than  diminish,  the  charms  of  the  union.  Look  at 
me,  dearest  Lady  Augusta!  —  look  me — 'if  you  have  courage  —  full  in  the 
face,  and  tell  me  whether  I  do  not  rave  when  my  fancy  is  thus  converting 
mere  possibilities  into  that  which  is  natural  and  probable.” 


C  A  S  T  Ti  K  D  A  N  (3  E  R  0  U  S . 


837 


The  Lady  of  Berkel^,  conscious  of  the  necessity,  raised  her  eyes  on  the 
unfortunate  nun,  afraid  of  losing  her  own  chance  of  deliverance  by  the 
mode  in  which  she  should  conduct  herself  in  this  crisis ;  yet  not  willing  at 
tlie  same  time  to  flatter  the  unfortunate  Ursula,  with  suggesting  ideas  for 
which  her  own  sense  told  her  she  could  hardly  find  any  rational  grounds. 
But  her  imagination,  stored  with  the  minstrelsy  of  the  time,  brought  back 
to  her  recollection  the  Loathly  Lady  in  “  The  marriage  of  Sir  Gawain,^^  and 
she  conducted  her  reply  in  the  following  manner :  — 

“  You  ask  me,  my  dear  Lady  Margaret,  a  trying  question,  which  it  would 
be  unfriendly  to  answer  otherwise  than  sincerely,  and  most  cruel  to  answer 
w'ith  too  much  rashness.  It  is  true,  that  what  is  called  beauty,  is  the  first 
quality  on  which  we  of  the  weaker  sex  learn  to  set  a  value  ;  we  are  flattered 
by  the  imputation  of  personal  charms,  whether  we  actually  possess  them  or 
not ;  and  no  doubt  we  learn  to  place  upon  them  a  great  deal  more  conse¬ 
quence  than  in  reality  is  found  to  belong  to  them.  Women,  however,  even 
such  as  are  held  by  their  own  sex,  and  perhaps  in  secret  by  themselves, 
as  devoid  of  all  pretensions  to  beauty,  have  been  known  to  become,  from 
their  understanding,  their  talents,  or  their  accomplishments,  the  undoubted 
objects  of  the  warmest  attachment.  Wherefore  then  should  you,  in  the 
mere  rashness  of  your  apprehension,  deem  it  impossible  that  your  Malcolm 
Fleming  should  be  made  of  that  porcelain  clay  of  the  earth,  which  despises 
the  passing  captivations  of  outward  form  in  comparison  to  the  charms  of 
true  affection,  and  the  excellence  of  talents  and  virtue 

The  nun  pressed  her  companion’s  hand  to  her  bosom,  and  answered  her 
with  a  deep  sigh. 

“  I  fear,”  she  said,  “  you  flatter  me ;  and  yet  in  a  crisis  like  this,  it  does 
one  good  to  be  flattered,  even  as  cordials,  otherwise  dangerous  to  the  consti¬ 
tution,  are  wisely  given  to  support  a  patient  through  a  paroxysm  of  agony, 
and  enable  him  to  endure  at  least  what  they  cannot  cure.  Answer  only  one 
question,  and  it  will  be  time  to  drop  this  conversation.  Could  you,  sweet 
lady  —  you  upon  w'hom  fortune  has  bestowed  so  many  charms  —  could  any 
argument  make  you  patient  under  the  irretrievable  loss  of  your  personal 
advantages,  with  the  concomitant  loss,  as  in  my  case  is  most  probable,  of  that 
lover  for  whom  you  have  already  done  so  much  ?” 

The  English  lady  cast  her  eyes  again  on  her  friend,  and  could  not  help 
shuddering  a  little  at  the  thought  of  her  own  beautiful  countenance  being 
exchanged  for  the  seamed  and  scarred  features  of  the  Lady  of  Ilautlieu, 
irregularly  lighted  by  the  beams  of  a  single  eye. 

“  Believe  me,”  she  said,  looking  solemnly  upwards,  “  that  even  in  the 
case  which  you  suppose,  I  would  not  sorrow  so  much  for  myself,  as  I  would 
for  the  poor-spirited  thoughts  of  the  lover  who  could  leave  me  because  those 
transitory  charms  (which  must  in  any  case  erelong  take  their  departure) 
had  fled  ere  yet  the  bridal  day.  It  is,  however,  concealed  by  the  decrees  of 
Providence,  in  what  manner,  or  to  what  extent,  other  persons,  with  whose 
disposition  we  are  not  fully  acquainted,  may  be  affected  by  such  changes. 
I  can  only  assure  you  that  my  hopes  go  with  yours,  and  that  there  is  no 
difficulty  which  shall  remain  in  your  path  in  future,  if  it  is  in  my  power  to 
remove  it. — Hark  !” - 

“  It  is  the  signal  of  our  freedom,”  replied  Ursula,  giving  attention  to 
something  resembling  the  whoop  of  the  night-owl.  “We  must  prepare  to 
leave  the  convent  in  a  few  minutes.  Have  you  anything  to  take  with  you  ?” 

“Nothing,”  answered  the  Lady  of  Berkely,  “except  the  few  valuables, 
which  I  scarce  know  why  I  brought  with  me  on  my  flight  hither.  ^  This 
scroll,  which  I  shall  leave  behind,  gives  my  faithful  minstrel  permission  to 
save  himself,  by  confessing  to  Sir  John  de  Walton  who  the  person  really  is 
whom  he  has  had  within  his  reach.” 

“  It  is  strange,”  said  the  novice  of  Saint  Bride,  “  through  what  extraor¬ 
dinary  labyrinths  this  Love,  this  Will-of-the-Wisp,  guides  his  votaries, 

VoL,  Xlf.— 22  2n 


338 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


Take  heed  as  you  descend ;  this  trap-door,  carefully  concealed,  curiously 
jointed  and  oiled,  leads  to  a  secret  postern,  where  I  conceive  the  horses 
already  wait,  which  will  enable  us  speedily  to  bid  adieu  to  Saint  Bride’s  — 
Heaven’s  blessing  on  her,  and  on  her  convent!  We  can  have  no  advantage 
from  any  light,  until  we  are  in  the  open  air.” 

During  this  time,  sister  Ursula,  to  give. her  for  the  last  time  her  conventual 
name,  exchanged  her  stole,  or  loose  upper  garment,  for  the  more  succinct' 
cloak  and  hood  of  a  horseman.  She  led  the  way  through  divers  passages, 
studiously  complicated,  until  the  Lady  of  Berkely,  with  throbbing  heart, 
stood  in  the  pale  and  doubtful  moonlight,  which  was  shining  with  grey 
uncertainty  upon  the  walls  of  the  ancient  building.  The  imitation  of  an 
owlet’s  cry  directed  them  to  a  neighbouring  large  elm,  and  on  approaching 
it,  they  were  aware  of  three  horses,  held  hj  one,  concerning  whom  they 
could  only  see  that  he  was  tall,  strong,  and  accoutred  in  the  dress  of  a  man- 
at-arms. 

“  The  sooner,”  he  said,  “  we  are  gone  from  this  place.  Lady  Margaret,  it 
is  so  much  the  better.  You  have  only  to  direct  the  course  which  we  shall 
^  hold.” 

Lady  Margaret’s  answer  was  given  beneath  her  breath  ;  and  replied  to 
with  a  caution  from  the  guide  to  ride  slowly  and  silently  for  the  first  quarter 
of  an  hour,  by  which  time  inhabited  places  would  be  left  at  a  distance. 


(Cjinpltr  tliE  Cindftlj. 

Great  was  the  astonishment  of  the  young  Knight  of  Valence  and  the 
reverend  Father  Jerome,  when,  upon  breaking  into  the  cell,  they  discovered 
the  youthful  pilgrim’s  absence ;  and,  from  the  garments  which  were  left, 
saw  every  reason  to  think  that  the  one-eyed  novice,  sister  Ursula,  had  ac¬ 
companied  him  in  his  escape  from  custody.  A  thousand  thoughts  thronged 
upon  Sir  Aymer,  how  shamefully  he  had  suffered  himself  to  be  outwitted 
by  the  artifices  of  a  boy  and  of  a  novice.  His  reverend  companion  in  error 
felt  no  less  contrition  for  having  recommended  to  the  knight  a  mild  exer¬ 
cise  of  his  authority.  Father  Jerome  had  obtained  his  preferment  as  abbot 
upon  the  faith  of  his  zeal  for  the  cause  of  the  English  monarch,  with  the 
affected  interest  in  which  he  was  at  a  loss  to  reconcile  his  proceedings  of 
the  last  night.  A  hurried  enquiry  took  place,  from  which  little  could  be 
learned,  save  that  the  young  pilgrim  had  most  certainly  gone  off  with  the 
Lady  Margaret  de  Hautlieu,  an  incident  at  which  the  females  of  the  convent 
expressed  surprise,  mingled  with  a  great  deal  of  horror ;  while  that  of  the 
males,  whom  the  news  soon  reached,  was  qualified  with  a  degree  of  wonder, 
which  seemed  to  be  founded  upon  the  very  different  personal  appearance  of 
the  two  fugitives. 

“  Sacred  Virgin,”  said  a  nun,  “who  could  have  conceived  the  hopeful 
votaress,  sister  Ursula,  so  lately  drowned  in  tears  for  her  father’s  untimely 
fate,  capable  of  eloping  with  a  boy  scarce  fourteen  years  old !” 

“And,  holy  Saint  Bride  I”  said  the  Abbot  Jerome,  “what  could  have  made 
so  handsome  a  young  man  lend  his  arm  to  assist  such  a  nightmare  as  sister 
Ursula,  in  the  commission  of  so  great  an  enormity?  Certainly  he  can  neither 
plead  temptation  nor  seduction,  but  must  have  gone,  as  the  worldly  phrase 
is, — to  the  devil  with  a  dish-clout.” 

“  I  must  disperse  the  soldiers  to  pursue  the  fugitives,”  said  De  Valence, 
“  unless  this  letter,  which  the  pilgrim  must  have  left  behind  him,  shall  con¬ 
tain  some  explanations  respecting  our  mysterious  prisoner.” 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


839 


After  viewing  the  contents  with  some  surprise,  lie  read  aloud, — “  Tho 
undersigned,  late  residing  in  the  house  of  Saint  Bride,  do  you,  hither 
Jerome,  the  abbot  of  said  house,  to  know,  that  finding  you  were  disposed  to 
treat  me  as  a  prisoner  and  a  spy,  in  the  sanctuar}’^  to  which  you  had  received 
me  as  a  distressed  person,  I  have  resolved  to  use  my  natural  liberty,  with 
which  you  have  no  right  to  interfere,  and  therefore  have  withdrawn  myself 
from  your  abbacy.  Moreover,  finding  that  the  novice  called  in  your 
convent  sister  Ursula  (who  hath,  by  monastic  rule  and  discipline,  a  fair 
title  to  return  to  the  world  unless  she  is  pleased,  after  a  year’s  novitiate, 
to  profess  herself  sister  of  your  order)  is  determined  to  use  such  privilege, 
I  joyfully  take  the  opportunity  of  her  company  in  this  her  lawful  resolu¬ 
tion,  as  being  what  is  in  conformity  to  the  law  of  God,  and  the  precepts 
of  Saint  Bride,  which  gave  you  no  authority  to  detain  any  person  in  your 
convent  by  force,  who  hath  not  taken  upon  her  irrevocably  the  vows  of  the 
order. 

“To  you.  Sir  John  de  Walton,  and  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence,  knights  of 
England,  commanding  the  garrison  of  Douglas  Dale,  I  have  only  to  saj’’, 
that  you  have  acted  and  are  acting  against  me  under  a  mystery,  the  solution 
of  which  is  comprehended  in  a  secret  known  only  to  my  faithful  minstrel, 
Bertram  of  the  many  Lays,  as  whose  son  I  have  found  it  convenient  to  pass 
myself.  But  as  I  cannot  at  this  time  prevail  upon  myself  personally  to 
discover  a  secret  which  cannot  well  be  unfolded  without  feelings  of  shame, 
I  not  only  give  permission  to  the  said  Bertram  the  minstrel,  but  I  charge 
and  command  him  that  he  tell  to  you  the  purpose  with  which  I  came  origi¬ 
nally  to  the  Castle  of  Douglas.  When  this  is  discovered,  it  will  only  remain 
to  express  my  feelings  towards  the  two  knights,  in  return  for  the  pain  and 
agony  of  mind  which  their  violence  and  threats  of  further  severities  have 
occasioned  me. 

“  And  first  respecting  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence,  I  freely  and  willingly  forgive 
him  for  having  been  involved  in  a  mistake  to  which  I  myself  led  the  way, 
and  I  shall  at  all  times  be  happy  to  meet  with  him  as  an  acquaintance,  and 
never  to  think  farther  of  his  part  in  these  few  days’  history,  saving  as  matter 
of  mirth  and  ridicule. 

“But  respecting  Sir  John  de  Walton,  I  must  request  of  him  to  consider 
whether  his  conduct  towards  me,  standing  as  we  at  present  do  towards  each 
other,  is  such  as  he  himself  ought  to  forget  or  I  ought  to  forgive  ;  and  I  trust 
he  will  understand  me  when  I  tell  him,  that  all  former  connexions  must 
henceforth  be  at  an  end  between  him  and  the  supposed  “  Augustine.” 

“  This  is  madness,”  said  the  abbot,  when  he  had  read  the  letter, — “  very 
midsummer  madness  ;  not  unfrequently  an  accompaniment  of  this  pestilen¬ 
tial  disease,  and  I  should  do  well  in  requiring  of  those  soldiers  who  shall 
first  apprehend  this  youth  Augustine,  that  they  reduce  his  victuals  imme¬ 
diately  to  water  and  bread,  taking  care  that  the  diet  do  not  exceed  in  measure 
what  is  necessary  to  sustain  nature  ;  nay,  I  should  be  warranted  by  the 
learned,  did  I  recommend  a  sufficient  intermixture  of  flagellation  with  belts, 
stirrup-leathers,  or  surcingles,  and  fiiiling  those,  with  riding-whips,  switches, 
and  the  like.” 

“  Hush  !  my  reverend  father,”  said  De  Valence,  “  a  light  begins  to  break 
in  upon  me.  John  de  Walton,  if  my  suspicions  be  true,  would  sooner  expose 
his  own  flesh  to  be  hewn  from  his  bones,  than  have  this  Augustine’s  finger 
stung  by  a  gnat.  Instead  of  treating  this  youth  as  a  madman,  I  for  my  own 
part,  will  be  contented  to  avow  that  I  myself  have  been  bewitched  and  fasci¬ 
nated  ;  and  by  my  honour,  if  I  send  out  my  attendants  in  quest  of  the  fugi¬ 
tives,  it  shall  be  with  the  strict  charge,  that,  when  apprehended,  they  treat 
them  with  all  respect,  and  protect  them,  if  they  object  to  return  to  this  house, 
to  any  honourable  place  of  refuge  which  they  may  desire.” 

“  I  hope,”  said  the  abbot,  looking  strangely  confused,  “  I  shall  be  first 


340 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


heard  in  behalf  of  the  Church  concerning  this  affair  of  an  abducted  nun? 
You  see  yourself,  Sir  Knight,  that  this  scapegrace  of  a  minstrel  avouches 
neither  repentance  nor  contrition  at  his  share  in  a  matter  so  flagitious/^ 

“  You  shall  be  secured  an  opportunity  of  being  fully  heard,^^  replied  the 
knight,  “  if  you  shall  find  at  last  that  you  really  desire  one.  Meantime,  I 
must  back,  without  a  moment’s  delay,  to  inform  Sir  John  de  Walton  of  the 
turn  which  affairs  have  taken.  Farewell,  reverend  father.  By  my  honour 
we  may  wish  each  other  joy  that  we  have  escaped  from  a  troublesome 
charge,  which  brought  as  much  terror  with  it  as  the  phantoms  of  a  fearful 
dream,  and  is  yet  found  capable  of  being  dispelled  by  a  cure  as  simple  as 
that  of  awakening  the  sleeper.  But,  by  Saint  Bride  !  both  churchmen  and 
laymen  are  bound  to  sympathise  with  the  unfortunate  Sir  John  de  Walton. 
I  tell  thee,  father,  that  if  this  letter  ” — touching  the  missive  with  his  finger — 
“  is  to  be  construed  literally,  as  far  as  respects  him,  he  is  the  man  most  to 
be  pitied  betwixt  the  brink  of  Solway  and  the  place  where  we  now  stand. 
Suspend  thy  curiosity,  most  worthy  churchman,  lest  there  should  be  more  in 
this  matter  than  I  myself  see ;  so  that,  while  thinking  that  I  have  lighted  on 
the  true  explanation,  I  may  not  have  to  acknowledge  that  I  have  been  again 
leading  you  into  error.  Sound  to  horse  there !  Ho  !”  he  called  out  from 
the  window  of  the  apartment;  “  and  let  the  party  I  brought  hither  prepare 
to  scour  the  woods  on  their  return.” 

“By  my  faith  !”  said  Father  Jerome,  “I  am  right  glad  that  this  young 
nut-cracker  is  going  to  leave  me  to  my  own  meditation.  I  hate  when  a 
young  person  pretends  to  understand  whatever  passes,  while  his  betters  are 
obliged  to  confess  that  it  is  all  a  mystery  to  them.  Such  an  assumption  is 
like  that  of  the  conceited  fool,  sister  Ursula,  who  pretended  to  read  with  a 
single  eye  a  manuscript  which  I  myself  could  not  find  intelligible  with  the 
assistance  of  my  spectacles.” 

This  might  not  have  quite  pleased  the  young  knight,  nor  was  it  one  of 
those  truths  which  the  abbot  would  have  chosen  to  deliver  in  his  hearing. 
But  the  knight  had  shaken  him  by  the  hand,  said  adieu,  and  was  already 
at  Hazelside,  issuing  particular  orders  to  little  troops  of  the  archers  and 
others,  and  occasionally  chiding  Thomas  Dickson,  who,  with  a  degree  of 
curiosity  which  the  English  knight  was  not  very  willing  to  excuse,  had 
been  endeavouring  to  get  some  account  of  the  occurrences  of  the  night. 

“  Peace,  fellow !”  he  said,  “  and  mind  thine  own  business,  being  well 
assured  that  the  hour  will  come  in  which  it  will  require  all  the  attention 
thou  canst  give,  leaving  others  to  take  care  of  their  own  affairs.” 

“  If  I  am  suspected  of  any  thing,”  answered  Dickson,  in  a  tone  rather 
dogged  and  surly  than  otherwise,  “  methinks  it  were  but  fair  to  let  me  know 
what  accusation  is  brought  against  me.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  chivalry 
prescribes  that  a  knight  should  not  attack  an  enemy  undefied.” 

“When  you  are  a  knight,”  answered  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence,  “it  will  be 
time  enough  for  me  to  reckon  with  you  upon  the  points  of  form  due  to  you 
by  the  laws  of  chivalry.  Meanwhile,  you  had  best  let  me  know  what  share 
you  have  had  in  playing  off  the  martial  phantom  which  sounded  the  rebel¬ 
lious  slogan  of  Douglas  in  the  town  of  that  name  ?” 

“  I  know  nothing  of  what  you  speak,”  answered  the  goodman  of  Hazel- 
side. 

“  See  then,”  said  the  knight,  “  that  you  do  not  engage  yourself  in  the 
affairs  of  other  people,  even  if  your  conscience  warrants  that  you  are  in  no 
danger  from  your  own.” 

So  saying,  he  rode  off,  not  waiting  any  answer.  The  ideas  which  filled 
his  head  were  to  the  following  purpose. 

“  I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  one  mist  seems  no  sooner  to  clear  away  than 
we  find  ourselves  engaged  in  another.  I  take  it  for  granted  that  tlie  dis¬ 
guised  damsel  is  no  other  than  the  goddess  of  Walton’s  private  idolatry, 
who  has  cost  him  and  me  so  much  trouble,  and  some  certain  degree  of  mis- 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


341 


understanding  during  these  last  weeks.  By  my  honour!  this  fair  lady  is 
right  lavish  in  the  pardon  which  she  has  so  frankly  bestowed  upon  me,  and 
if  she  is  willing  to  be  less  complaisant  to  Sir  John  de  Walton,  why  then  — 
And  what  then?  —  It  surely  does  not  infer  that  she  would  receive  me  into 
that  place  in  her  affections,  from  which  she  has  just  expelled  De  Walton? 
Nor,  if  she  did,  could  I  avail  myself  of  a  change  in  favour  of  myself,  at 
the  expense  of  my  friend  and  companion  in  arms.  It  were  a  folly  even  to 
dream  of  a  thing  so  improbable.  But  with  respect  to  the  other  business,  it 
is  worth  serious  consideration.  Yon  sexton  seems  to  have  kept  company 
with  dead  bodies,  until  he  is  unfit  for  the  society  of  the  living ;  and  as  to 
that  Dickson  of  Ilazelside,  as  they  call  him,  there  is  no  attempt  against  the 
English  during  these  endless  wars,  in  which  that  man  has  not  been  con¬ 
cerned  ;  had  my  life  depended  upon  it,  I  could  not  have  prevented  myself 
from  intimating  my  suspicions  of  him,  let  him  take  it  as  he  lists. 

So  saying,  the  knight  spurred  his  horse,  and  arriving  at  Douglas  Castle 
without  farther  adventure,  demanded  in  a  tone  of  greater  cordiality  than  he 
had  of  late  used,  whether  he  could  be  admitted  to  Sir  John  de  Walton, 
having  something  of  consequence  to  report  to  him.  He  was  immediately 
ushered  into  an  apartment,  in  which  the  governor  was  seated  at  his  solitary 
breakfast.  Considering  the  terms  upon  which  they  had  lately  stood,  the 
governor  of  Douglas  Dale  was  somewhat  surprised  at  the  easy  familiarity 
with  which  De  Valence  now  approached  him. 

“Some  uncommon  news,’^  said  Sir  John,  rather  gravely,  “have  brought 
me  the  honour  of  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence’s  company.” 

“  It  is,”  answered  Sir  Aymer,  “  what  seems  of  high  importance  to  your 
interest.  Sir  John  de  Walton,  and  therefore  I  were  to  blame  if  I  lost  a 
moment  in  communicating  it.” 

“I  shall  be  proud  to  profit  by  your  intelligence,”  said  Sir  John  de 
Walton. 

“And  I  too,”  said  the  young  knight,  “am  loth  to  lose  the  credit  of  having 
penetrated  a  mystery  which  blinded  Sir  John  de  Walton.  At  the  same 
time,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  thought  capable  of  jesting  with  you,  which  might 
be  the  case  were  I,  from  misapprehension,  to  give  a  false  key  to  this  matter. 
AVith  your  permission,  then,  we  will  proceed  thus:  We  go  together  to  the 
place  of  Bertram  the  minstrel’s  confinement.  I  have  in  my  possession  a 
scroll  from  the  young  person  who  was  intrusted  to  the  care  of  the  Abbot 
Jerome ;  it  is  written  in  a  delicate  female  hand,  and  gives  authority  to 
the  minstrel  to  declare  the  purpose  which  brought  them  to  this  vale  of 
Douglas.” 

“It  must  be  as  you  say,”  said  Sir  John  de  AValton,  “although  lean 
scarce  see  occasion  for  adding  so  much  form  to  a  mystery  which  can  be  ex¬ 
pressed  in  such  small  compass.” 

Accordingly  the  two  knights,  the  warder  leading  the  way,  proceeded  to 
the  dungeon  to  which  the  minstrel  had  been  removed. 


(Clinpttr  tliB  '^jiirtttntj). 

The  doors  of  the  stronghold  being  undone,  displayed  a  dungeon  such  as 
in  those  days  held  victims  hopeless  of  escape,  but  in  which  the  ingenious 
knave  of  modern  times  would  scarcely  have  deigned  to  remain  many  hours. 
The  huge  rings  by  which  the  fetters  were  soldered  together,  and  attached 
to  the  human  body,  were,  when  examined  minutely,  found  to  be  clenched 


342 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


together  by  riveting  so  very  thin,  that  when  rubbed  with  corrosive  acid,  or 
patiently  ground  with  a  bit  of  sandstone,  the  hold  of  the  fetters  upon  each 
other  might  easily  be  forced  asunder,  and  the  purpose  of  them  entirely 
frustrated.  The  locks  also,  large,  and  apparently  very  strong,  were  so 
coarsely  made,  that  an  artist  of  small  ingenuity  could  easily  contrive  to  get 
the  better  of  their  fastenings  upon  the  same  principle.  The  daylight  found 
its  way  to  the  subterranean  dungeon  only  at  noon,  and  through  a  passage 
which  was  purposely  made  tortuous,  so  as  to  exclude  the  rays  of  the  sun, 
while  it  presented  no  obstacle  to  wind  or  rain.  The  doctrine  that  a  prisoner 
was  to  be  esteemed  innocent  until  he  should  be  found  guilty  by  his  peers, 
was  not  understood  in  those  days  of  brute  force,  and  he  was  only  accom¬ 
modated  with  a  lamp  or  other  alleviation  of  his  misery,  if  his  demeanour 
was  quiet,  and  he  appeared  disposed  to  give  his  jailor  no  trouble  by  attempt¬ 
ing  to  make  his  escape.  Such  a  cell  of  confinement  was  that  of  Bertram, 
whose  moderation  of  temper  and  patience  had  nevertheless  procured  for 
him  such  mitigations  of  his  fate  as  the  warder  could  grant.  He  was  per¬ 
mitted  to  carry  into  his  cell  the  old  book,  in  the  perusal  of  which  he  found 
an  amusement  of  his  solitude,  together  with  writing  materials,  and  such 
other  helps  towards  spending  his  time  as  were  consistent  with  his  abode  in 
the  bosom  of  the  rock,  and  the  degree  of  information  with  which  his  min¬ 
strel  craft  had  possessed  him.  He  raised  his  head  from  the  table  as  the 
knights  entered,  while  the  governor  observed  to  the  young  knight : — 

“  As  you  seem  to  think  yourself  possessed  of  the  secret  of  this  prisoner, 
I  leave  it  to  you.  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence,  to  bring  it  to  light  in  the  manner 
which  you  shall  judge  most  expedient.  If  the  man  or  his  son  have  suffered 
unnecessary  hardship,  it  shall  be  my  duty  to  make  amends — which,  I  sup¬ 
pose,  can  be  no  very  important  matter.^^ 

Bertram  looked  up,  and  fixed  his  eyes  full  upon  the  governor,  but  read 
nothing  in  his  looks  which  indicated  his  being  better  acquainted  than  before 
with  the  secret  of  his  imprisonment.  Yet,  upon  turning  his  eye  towards 
Sir  Aymer,  his  countenance  evidently  lighted  up,  and  the  glance  which 
passed  between  them  was  one  of  intelligence. 

“  You  have  my  secret,  then,^^  said  he,  “  and  you  know  who  it  is  that 
passes  under  the  name  of  Augustine  V’ 

Sir  Aymer  exchanged  with  him  a  look  of  acquiescence ;  while  the  eyes 
of  the  governor  glancing  wildly  from  the  prisoner  to  the  knight  of  Valence, 
exclaimed, — 

“  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence,  as  you  are  belted  knight  and  Christian  man,  as 
you  have  honour  to  preserve  on  earth,  and  a  soul  to  rescue  after  death,  I 
charge  you  to  tell  me  the  meaning  of  this  mystery !  It  may  be  that  you 
conceive,  with  truth,  that  you  have  subject  of  complaint  against  me  ;  —  If 
so,  I  will  satisfy  you  as  a  knight  may.^^ 

The  minstrel  spoke  at  the  same  moment. 

“  I  charge  this  knight,^^  he  said,  “  by  his  vow  of  chivalry,  that  he  do  not 
divulge  any  secret  belonging  to  a  person  of  honour  and  of  character,  unless 
he  has  positive  assurance  that  it  is  done  entirely  by  that  person’s  own 
consent.” 

“  Let  this  note  remove  your  scruples,”  said  Sir  Aymer,  putting  the  scroll 
into  the  hands  of  the  minstrel ;  “  and  for  you.  Sir  John  de  Walton,  far  from 
retaining  the  least  feeling  of  any  misunderstanding  which  may  have  existed 
between  us,  I  am  disposed  entirely  to  bury  it  in  forgetfulness,  as  having 
arisen  out  of  a  series  of  mistakes  which  no  mortal  could  have  comprehended. 
And  do  not  be  offended,  my  dear  Sir  John,  when  I  protest,  on  my  knightly 
faith,  that  I  pity  the  pain  which  I  think  this  scroll  is  likely  to  give  you,  and 
that  if  my  utmost  efforts  can  be  of  the  least  service  to  you  in  unravelling 
this  tangled  skein,  I  will  contribute  them  with  as  much  earnestness  as  ever 
I  did  aught  in  my  life.  This  faithful  minstrel  will  now  see  that  he  can  have 
no  difficulty  in  yielding  up  a  secret,  which  I  doubt  not,  but  for  the  writing 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS.  843 

I  liave  just  put  into  his  hands,  he  ^TOuld  have  continued  to  keep  with  un¬ 
shaken  fidelity/^ 

Sir  Aymer  now  placed  in  De  Walton’s  hand  a  note,  in  which  he  had,  ere 
he  left  Saint  Bride’s  convent,  signified  his  own  interpretation  of  the  mys¬ 
tery  ;  and  the  governor  had  scarcely  read  the  name  it  contained,  before  the 
same  name  was  pronounced  aloud  by  Bertram,  who,  at  the  same  moment, 
handed  to  the  governor  the  scroll  which  he  had  received  from  the  Knight 
of  Valence. 

The  white  plume  which  floated  over  the  knight’s  cap  of  maintenance, 
which  was  woim  as  a  headpiece  within  doors,  was  not  more  pale  in  com¬ 
plexion  than  was  the  knight  himself  at  the  unexpected  and  surprising  in¬ 
formation,  that  the  lady  who  was,  in  chivalrous  phrase,  empress  of  his 
thoughts,  and  commander  of  his  actions,  and  to  whom,  even  in  less  fantastic 
times,  he  must  have  owed  the  deepest  gratitude  for  the  generous  election 
which  she  had  made  in  his  favour,  was  the  same  person  whom  he  had 
threatened  with  personal  violence,  and  subjected  to  hardships  and  affronts 
which  he  would  not  willingly  have  bestowed  even  upon  the  meanest  of  her 
sex. 

Yet  Sir  John  de  Walton  seemed  at  first  scarcely  to  comprehend  the 
numerous  ill  consequences  which  might  probably  follow  this  unhappy  com¬ 
plication  of  mistakes.  He  took  the  paper  from  the  minstrefs  hand,  and 
while  his  eye,  assisted  by  the  lamp,  wandered  over  the  characters  without 
apparently  their  conveying  any  distinct  impression  to  his  understanding, 
De  Valence  even  became  alarmed  that  he  was  about  to  lose  his  faculties. 

“For  Heaven’s  sake,  sir,”  he  said,  “  be  a  man,  and  support  with  manly 
steadiness  these  unexpected  occurrences — I  would  fain  think  they  will  reach 
to  nothing  else — which  the  wit  of  man  could  not  have  prevented.  This  fair 
lady,  I  would  fain  hope,  cannot  be  much  hurt  or  deeply  offended  by  a  train 
of  circumstances,  the  natural  consequence  of  your  anxiety  to  discharge 
perfectly  a  duty  upon  which  must  depend  the  accomplishment  of  all  the 
hopes  she  had  permitted  you  to  entertain.  In  God’s  name,  rouse  up,  sir ; 
let  it  not  be  said,  that  an  apprehended  frown  of  a  fair  lady  hath  damped  to 
such  a  degree  the  courage  of  the  boldest  knight  in  England ;  be  what  men 
have  called  you,  ‘Walton  the  Unwavering;’  in  Heaven’s  name,  let  us  at 
least  see  that  the  lady  is  indeed  offended,  before  we  conclude  that  she  is 
irreconcilably  so.  To  whose  fault  are  we  to  ascribe  the  source  of  all  these 
errors  ?  Surely,  with  all  due  respect,  to  the  caprice  of  the  lady  herself, 
which  has  engendered  such  a  nest  of  mistakes.  Think  of  it  as  a  man,  and 
as  a  soldier.  Suppose  that  you  yourself,  or  I,  desirous  of  proving  the 
fidelity  of  our  sentinels,  or  for  any  other  reason,  good  or  bad,  attempted  to 
enter  this  Dangerous  Castle  of  Douglas  without  giving  the  password  to  the 
warders,  would  we  be  entitled  to  blame  those  upon  duty,  if,  not  knowdng 
our  persons,  they  manfully  refused  us  entrance,  made  us  prisoners,  and 
mishandled  us  while  resisting  our  attempt,  in  terms  of  the  orders  which  we 
ourselves  had  imposed  upon  them?  What  is  there  that  makes  a  difference 
between  such  a  sentinel  and  yourself,  John  de  Walton,  in  this  curious 
affair,  which,  by  Heaven  !  would  rather  form  a  gay  subject  for  the  min¬ 
strelsy  of  this  excellent  bard,  than  the  theme  of  a  tragic  lay  ?  Come  !  look 
not  thus.  Sir  John  de  Walton  ;  be  angry,  if  you  will,  with  the  lady  who 
has  committed  such  a  piece  of  folly,  or  with  me  who  have  rode  up  and  down 
nearly  all  night  on  a  fool’s  errand,  and  spoiled  my  best  horse,  in  absolute 
uncertainty  how  I  shall  get  another  till  my  uncle  of  Pembroke  and  I  shall 
be  reconciled ;  or,  lastly,  if  you  desire  to  be  totally  absurd  in  your  wrath, 
direct  it  against  this  worthy  minstrel  on  account  of  his  rare  fidelity,  and 
punish  him  for  that  for  which  he  better  deserves  a  chain  of  gold.  Let  pas¬ 
sion  out,  if  you  will ;  but  chase  this  desponding  gloom  from  the  brow  of  a 
man  and  a  belted  knight.” 


344  WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 

Sir  John  de  Walton  made  an  effort  to  speak,  and-  succeeded  with  some 
difficulty. 

“  Aymer  de  Valence, he  said,  “  in  irritating  a  madman  you  do  but  sport 
with  your  own  life  and  then  remained  silent. 

“  I  am  glad  you  can  say  so  much,^^  replied  his  friend ;  “  for  I  was  not 
jesting  when  I  said  I  would  rather  that  you  were  at  variance  with  me,  than 
that  you  laid  the  whole  blame  on  yourself.  It  would  be  courteous,  I  think, 
to  set  this  minstrel  instantly  at  liberty.  Meantime,  for  his  lady's  sake,  I 
will  entreat  him,  in  all  honour,  to  be  our  guest  till  the  Lady  Augusta  de 
Berkely  shall  do  us  the  same  honour,  and  to  assist  us  in  our  search  after 
her  place  of  retirement.  —  Good  minstrel,"  he  continued,  “you  hear  what 
I  say,  and  you  will  not,  I  suppose,  be  surprised,  that  in  all  honour  and 
kind  usage,  you  find  yourself  detained  for  a  short  space  in  this  Castle  of 
Douglas  ?" 

“You  seem,  Sir  Knight,"  replied  the  minstrel,  “not  so  much  to  keep 
your  eye  upon  the  right  of  doing  what  you  should,  as  to  possess  the  might 
of  doing  what  you  would.  I  must  necessarily  be  guided  by  your  advice, 
since  you  have  the  power  to  make  it  a  command." 

“  And  I  trust,"  continued  De  Valence,  “  that  when  your  mistress  and 
you  again  meet,  we  shall  have  the  benefit  of  your  intercession  for  any  thing 
which  we  mify  have  done  to  displeasure  her,  considering  that  the  purpose 
of  our  action  wag  exactly  the  reverse." 

“Let  me,"  said  Sir  John  de  Walton,  “say  a  single  word.  I  will  offer 
thee  a  chain  of  gold,  heavy  enough  to  bear  down  the  weight  of  these 
shackles,  as  a  sign  of  regret  for  having  condemned  thee  to  suffer  so  many 
ind’gnities." 

“Enough  said.  Sir  John,"  said  De  Valence;  “let  us  promise  no  more  till 
ihis  good  minstrel  shall  see  some  sign  of  performance.  Follow  me  this 
vny,  and  I  will  tell  thee  in  private  of  other  tidings,  which  it  is  important 
that  you  should  know." 

So  saying,  he  withdrew  De  Walton  from  the  dungeon,  and  sending  for 
the  old  knight.  Sir  Philip  de  Montenay,  already  mentioned,  who  acted  as 
seneschal  of  the  castle,  he  commanded  that  the  minstrel  should  be  enlarged 
from  the  dungeon,  well  looked  to  in  other  respects,  yet  prohibited,  though 
with  every  mark  of  civility,  from  leaving  the  castle  without  a  trusty 
attendant. 

“And  now.  Sir  John  de  Walton,"  he  said,  “  methinks  you  are  a  little 
churlish  in  not  ordering  me  some  breakfast,  after  I  have  been  all  night 
engaged  in  your  affairs ;  and  a  cup  of  muscadel  would,  I  think,  be  no  bad 
induction  to  a  full  consideration  of  this  perplexed  matter." 

“  Thou  knowest,"  answered  De  Walton,  “  that  thou  mayest  call  for  what 
thou  wilt,  provided  always  thou  tellest  me,  without  loss  of  time,  what  else 
thou  knowest  respecting  the  will  of  the  lady,  against  whom  we  have  all 
sinned  so  grievously  —  and  I,  alas,  beyond  hope  of  forgiveness !" 

“Trust  me,  I  hope,"  said  the  Knight  of  Valence,  “the  good  lady  bears 
me  no  malice,  as  indeed  she  has  expressly  renounced  any  ill-will  against 
me.  The  words,  you  see,  are  as  plain  as  you  yourself  may  read  —  ‘  The 
lady  pardons  poor  Aymer  de  Valence,  and  willingly,  for  having  been  in¬ 
volved  in  a  mistake,  to  which  she  herself  led  the  way ;  she  herself  will  at 
all  times  be  happy  to  meet  with  him  as  an  acquaintance,  and  never  to  think 
farther  of  these  few  days’  history,  except  as  matter  of  mirth  and  ridicule.’ 
So  it  is  expressly  written  and  set  down." 

“Yes,"  replied  Sir  John  de  Walton,  “but  see  you  not  that  her  offending 
lover  is  expressly  excluded  from  the  amnesty  granted  to  the  lesser  offender  ? 
Mark  you  not  the  concluding  paragraph?"  He  took  the  scroll  with  a 
trembling  hand,  and  read  with  a  discomposed  voice  its  closing  words.  “  It 
is  even  so :  ‘  All  former  connexion  naust  henceforth  be  at  an  end  between 
him  and  the  supposed  Augustine.’  Explain  to  me  how  the  reading  of 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


345 


these  words  is  reconcilable  to  anything  but  their  plain  sense  of  condemna¬ 
tion  and  forfeiture  of  contract,  implying  destruction  of  the  hopes  of  Sir 
John  de  Walton?’' 

“You  are  somewhat  an  older  man  than  I,  Sir  Knight,”  answered  De 
Valence,  “and  I  will  grant,  by  far  the  wiser  and  more  experienced  ;  yet  I 
will  uphold  that  there  is  no  adopting  the  interpretation  which  you  seem  to 
have  afi&xed  in  your  mind  to  this  letter,  without  supposing  the  preliminary, 
that  the  fair  writer  was  distracted  in  her  understanding,  —  nay,  never  start, 
look  wildly,  or  lay  your  hand  on  your  sword,  I  do  not  affirm  this  is  the 
case.  I  say  again,  that  no  woman  in  her  senses  would  have  pardoned  a 
common  acquaintance  for  his  behaving  to  her  with  unintentional  disre¬ 
spect  and  unkindness,  during  the  currency  of  a  certain  masquerade,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  sternly  and  irrevocably  broke  off  with  the  lover  to  whom 
her  troth  was  plighted,  although  his  error  in  joining  in  the  offence  was 
neither  grosser  nor  more  protracted  than  that  of  the  person  indifferent  to 
her  love.” 

“  Do  not  blaspheme,”  said  Sir  John  de  Walton  ;  “and  forgive  me,  if,  in 
justice  to  truth  and  to  the  angel  whom  I  fear  I  have  forfeited  for  ever,  I 
point  out  to  you  the  difference  which  a  maiden  of  dignity  and  of  feeling 
must  make  between  an  offence  towards  her,  committed  by  an  ordinary 
acquaintance,  and  one  of  precisely  the  same  kind  offered  by  a  person  who 
is  bound  by  the  most  undeserved  preference,  by  the  most  generous  benefits, 
and  by  every  thing  which  can  bind  human  feeling,  to  think  and  reflect 
ere  he  becomes  an  actor  in  any  case  in  which  it  is  possible  for  her  to 
be  concerned.” 

“Now,  by  mine  honour,”  said  Aymer  de  Valence,  “I  am  glad  to  hear 
thee  make  some  attempt  at  reason,  although  it  is  but  an  unreasonable  kind 
of  reason  too,  since  its  object  is  to  destroy  thine  own  hopes,  and  argue 
away  thine  own  chance  of  happiness ;  but  if  I  have,  in  the  progress  of 
this  affair,  borne  me  sometimes  towards  thee,  as  to  give  not  only  the 
governor,  but  even  the  friend,  some  cause  of  displeasure,  I  will  make  it  up 
to  thee  now,  John  de  Walton,  by  trying  to  convince  thee  in  spite  of  thine 
own  perverse  logic.  But  here  comes  the  muscadel  and  the  breakfast ;  wilt 
thou  take  some  refreshment ;  —  or  shall  we  go  on  without  the  spirit  of 
muscadel  ?” 

“  For  Heaven’s  sake,”  replied  De  Walton,  “  do  as  thou  wilt,  so  thou  make 
me  clear  of  thy  M^ell-in tended  babble.” 

“  Nay,  thou  shalt  not  brawl  me  out  of  my  powers  of  argument,”  said  Do 
Valence,  laughing,  and  helping  himself  to  a  brimming  cup  of  wine;  “if 
thou  acknowledgest  thyself  conquered,  I  am  contented  to  give  the  victory 
to  the  inspiring  strength  of  the  jovial  liquor.” 

“  Do  as  thou  listest,”  said  De  Walton,  “  but  make  an  end  of  an  argument 
which  thou  canst  not  comprehend.” 

“  I  deny  the  charge,”  answered  the  younger  knight,  wiping  his  lips,  after 
having  finished  his  draught;  “and  listen,  Walton  the  Warlike,  to  a  chapter 
in  the  history  of  women,  in  which  thou  art  more  unskilled  than  I  would 
wish  thee  to  be.  Thou  canst  not  deny  that,  be  it  right  or  wrong,  the  lady 
Augusta  hath  ventured  more  forward  with  you  than  is  usual  upon  the  sea 
of  affection  ;  she  boldly  made  thee  her  choice,  while  thou  wert  as  yet  known 
to  her  only  as  a  flower  of  English  chivalry,  —  faith,  and  I  respect  her  for 
her  frankness  —  but  it  was  a  choice,  which  the  more  cold  of  her  own  sex 
might  perhaps  claim  occasion  to  term  rash  and  precipitate. — Nay,  be  not,  I 
pray  thee,  offended — I  am  fixr  from  thinking  or  saying  so  ;  on  the  contrary, 
1  will  uphold  with  my  lance,  her  selection  of  John  de  Walton  against  the 
minions  of  a  court,  to  be  a  wise  and  generous  choice,  and  her  owm  behaviour 
as  alike  candid  and  noble.  But  she  herself  is  not  unlikely  to  dread  unjust 
misconstruction  ;  a  fear  of  which  may  not  improbably  induce  her,  upon  any 
occasion,  to  seize  some  opportunity  of  showing  an  unwonted  and  unusual 


W  A  V  E  R  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 


346 

rigour  towards  her  lover,  in  order  to  balance  her  having  extended  tov^arda 
him,  in  the  beginning  of  their  intercourse,  somewhat  of  an  unusual  degree 
of  frank  encouragement.  Nay,  it  might  be  easy  for  her  lover  so  far  to  take 
part  against  himself,  by  arguing  as  thou  dost,  when  out  of  thy  senses,  as  to 
make  it  difficult  for  her  to  withdraw  from  an  argument  which  he  himself 
was  foolish  enough  to  strengthen  ;  and  thus,  like  a  maiden  too  soon  taken  at 
her  first  nay-say,  she  shall  perhaps  be  allowed  no  opportunity  of  bearing 
hw3rself  according  to  her  real  feelings,  or  retracting  a  sentence  issued  with 
consent  of  the  party  whose  hopes  it  destroys.’^ 

“I  have  heard  thee,  De  Valence,^^  answered  the  governor  of  Douglas 
Dale ;  “  nor  is  it  difficult  for  me  to  admit,  that  these  thy  lessons  may  serve 
as  a  chart  to  many  a  female  heart,  but  not  to  that  of  Augusta  de  Berkely. 
By  my  life,  I  say  I  would  much  sooner  be  deprived  of  the  merit  of  those 
few  deeds  of  chivalry  which  thou  sayest  have  procured  for  me  such  enviable 
distinction,  than  I  would  act  upon  them  with  the  insolence,  as  if  I  said  that 
my  place  in  the  lady’s  bosom  was  too  firmly  fixed  to  be  shaken  even  by  the 
success  of  a  worthier  man,  or  by  my  own  gross  failure  in  respect  to  the 
object  of  my  attachment.  No,  herself  alone  shall  have  power  to  persuade 
me  that  even  goodness  equal  to  that  of  an  interceding  saint  will  restore  me 
to  the  place  in  her  affections  which  I  have  most  unworthily  forfeited,  by  a 
stupidity  only  to  be  compared  to  that  of  brutes.” 

“  If  you  are  so  minded,”  said  Aymer  De  Valence,  “I  have  only  one  word 
more — forgive  me  if  I  speak  it  peremptorily — the  lady,  as  you  say,  and  say 
truly,  must  be  the  final  arbitress  in  this  question.  My  arguments  do  not 
extend  to  insisting  that  you  should  claim  her  hand,  whether  she  herself 
will  or  no ;  but,  to  learn  her  determination,  it  is  necessary  that  you  should 
find  out  where  she  is,  of  which  I  am  unfortunately  not  able  to  inform  you.” 

“  How  !  what  mean  you  !”  exclaimed  the  governor,  who  now  only  began 
to  comprehend  the  extent  of  his  misfortune ;  “  whither  hath  she  tied  ?  or 
with  whom  ?” 

“  She  is  fled,  for  what  I  know,”  said  De  Valence,  “in  search  of  a  more 
enterprising  lover  than  one  who  is  so  willing  to  interpret  every  air  of  frost 
as  a  killing  blight  to  his  hopes;  perhaps  she  seeks  the  Black  Douglas,  or 
some  such  hero  of  the  Thistle,  to  reward  with  her  lands,  her  lordships,  and 
beauty,  those  virtues  of  enterprise  and  courage,  of  which  John  de  Walton 
was  at  one  time  thought  possessed.  But,  seriously,  events  are  passing 
around  us  of  strange  import.  I  saw  enough  last  night,  on  my  way  to  Saint 
Bride’s,  to  make  me  suspicious  of  every  one.  I  sent  to  you  as  a  prisoner 
the  old  sexton  of  the  church  of  Douglas.  I  found  him  contumacious  as  to 
some  enquiries  which  I  thought  it  proper  to  prosecute ;  but  of  this  more  at 
another  time.  The  escape  of  this  lady  adds  greatly  to  the  difficulties  which 
encircle  this  devoted  castle.” 

“Aymer  de  Valence,”  replied  De  Walton,  in  a  solemn  and  animated  tone, 
“Douglas  Castle  shall  be  defended,  as  we  have  hitherto  been  able,  with  the 
aid  of  heaven,  to  spread  from  its  battlements  the  broad  banner  of  St.  George. 
Come  of  me  what  lists  during  my  life,  I  will  die  the  faithful  lover  of  Au¬ 
gusta  de  Berkely,  even  although  I  no  longer  live  as  her  chosen  knight. 
There  are  cloisters  and  hermitages” - 

“  Ay,  marry  are  there,”  replied  Sir  Aymer ;  “  and  girdles  of  hemp,  more¬ 
over,  and  beads  of  oak  ;  but  all  these  we  omit  in  our  reckonings,  till  we 
discover  where  the  Lady  Augusta  is,  and  what  she  purposes  to  do  in  this 
matter.” 

“You  say  well,”  replied  De  Walton;  “let  us  hold  counsel  together  by 
what  means  we  shall,  if  possible,  discover  the  lady’s  too  hasty  retreat,  by 
which  she  has  done  me  great  wrong ;  I  mean,  if  she  supposed  her  com¬ 
mands  would  not  have  been  fully  obeyed,  had  she  honoured  with  them  the 
governor  of  Douglas  Dale,  or  any  who  are  under  his  command.” 

“Now,”  replied  De  Valence,  “you  again  speak  like  a  true  son  of  chi- 


CAS  T  L  E  DA  N  (}  E  D  0  U  S . 


847 

valry.  With  your  permission  I  would  summon  this  minstrel  to  our 
presence.  Ilis  fidelity  to  his  mistress  has  been  remarkable ;  and,  as  mat¬ 
ters  stand  now,  we  must  take  instant  measures  for  tracing  the  place  of  her 
retreat.’^ 


(01jn{itEr  tjiE  /nnrtttntjj. 

The  way  is  long,  my  children,  long  and  rough— 

The  moors  are  dreary,  and  the  woods  are  dark; 

But  he  that  creeps  from  cradle  on  to  grave. 

Unskill’d  save  in  the  velvet  course  of  fortune, 

Hath  miss’d  the  discipline  of  noble  hearts. 

Old  Plat. 

It  was  yet  early  in  the  day,  when,  after  the  Governor  and  De  Valence 
had  again  summoned  Bertram  to  their  councils,  the  garrison  of  Douglas  was 
mustered,  and  a  number  of  small  parties,  in  addition  to  those  already  des¬ 
patched  by  De  Valence  from  Hazelside,  were  sent  out  to  scour  the  woods  in 
pursuit  of  the  fugitives,  with  strict  injunctions  to  treat  them,  if  overtaken, 
with  the  utmost  respect,  and  to  obey  their  commands,  keeping  an  eye,  how¬ 
ever,  on  the  place  where  they  might  take  refuge.  To  facilitate  this  result, 
some  who  were  men  of  discretion  were  intrusted  with  the  secret  who  the 
supposed  pilgrim  and  the  fugitive  nun  really  were.  The  whole  ground, 
whether  forest  or  moorland,  within  many  miles  of  Douglas  Castle,  was 
covered  and  traversed  by  parties,  whose  anxiety  to  detect  the  fugitives  was 
equal  to  the  reward  for  their  safe  recovery,  liberally  offered  by  De  Walton 
and  De  Valence.  They  spared  not,  meantime,  to  make  such  enquiries  in 
all  directions  as  might  bring  to  light  any  machinations  of  the  Scottish  in¬ 
surgents  which  might  be  on  foot  in  those  wild  districts,  of  which,  as  we  have 
said  before,  De  Valence,  in  particular,  entertained  strong  suspicions.  Their 
instructions  were,  in  case  of  finding  such,  to  proceed  against  the  persons 
engaged,  by  arrest  and  otherwise,  in  the  most  rigorous  manner,  such  as 
had  been  commanded  by  De  Walton  himself  at  the  time  when  the  Black 
Douglas  and  his  accomplices  had  been  the  principal  objects  of  his  wakeful 
suspicions.  These  various  detachments  had  greatly  reduced  the  strength 
of  the  garrison  ;  yet,  although  numerous,  alert,  and  despatched  in  every 
direction,  they  had  not  the  fortune  either  to  fall  on  the  trace  of  the  Lady 
of  Berkely,  or  to  encounter  any  party  whatever  of  the  insurgent  Scottish. 

jMeanwhile,  our  fugitives  had,  as  we  have  seen,  set  out  from  the  convent 
of  St.  Bride  under  the  guidance  of  a  cavalier,  of  whom  the  Lady  Augusta 
knew  nothing,  save  that  he  was  to  guide  their  steps  in  a  direction  where 
they  would  not  be  exposed  to  the  risk  of  being  overtaken.  At  length  Mar¬ 
garet  de  Ilautlieu  herself  spoke  upon  the  subject. 

“  You  have  made  no  enquiry,^^  she  said,  “  Lady  Augusta,  whither  you 
are  travelling,  or  under  whose  charge,  although  methinks  it  should  much 
concern  you  to  know.’^ 

“  Is  it  not  enough  for  me  to  be  aware,”  answered  Lady  Augusta,  “  that  I 
am  travelling,  kind  sister,  under  the  protection  of  one  to  whom  you  yourself 
trust  as  to  a  friend ;  and  why  need  I  be  anxious  for  any  farther  assurance 
of  my  safety  ?” 

“  Simply,”  said  Margaret  de  Ilautlieu,  “  because  the  persons  with  whom, 
from  national  as  well  as  personal  circumstances,  I  stand  connected,  are  per¬ 
haps  not  exactly  the  protectors  to  whom  you,  lady,  can  with  such  perfect 
safety  intrust  yourself.” 


348 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


“  In  what  sense/’  said  the  Lady  Augusta,  “  do  you  use  these  words  ?” 

“  Because,”  replied  Margaret  de  Ilautlieu,  “  the  Bruce,  the  Douglas,  Mal¬ 
colm*  Fleming,  and  others  of  that  party,  although  they  are  incapable  of 
abusing  such  an  advantage  to  any  dishonourable  purpose,  might  never¬ 
theless,  under  a  strong  temptation,  consider  you  as  an  hostage  thrown  into 
their  hands  by  Providence,  through  whom  they  might  meditate  the  possi¬ 
bility  of  gaining  some  benefit  to  their  dispersed  and  dispirited  party.” 

“They  might  make  me,”  answered  the  Lady  Augusta,  “the  subject  of 
such  a  treaty,  when  I  was  dead,  but,  believe  me,  never  while  I  drew  vital 
breath.  Believe  me  also  that,  with  whatever  pain,  shame,  or  agony,  I  would 
again  deliver  myself  up  to  the  power  of  De  Walton,  yes,  I  would  rather  put 
myself  in  his  hands  —  what  do  I  say?  kis/ — I  would  rather  surrender  my¬ 
self  to  the  meanest  archer  of  my  native  country,  than  combine  with  its  foes 
to  work  mischief  to  merry  England  —  my  own  England  —  that  country 
which  is  the  envy  of  every  other  country,  and  the  pride  of  all  who  can  term 
themselves  her  natives !” 

“  I  thought  that  your  choice  might  prove  so,”  said  Lady  Margaret ;  “  and 
since  you  have  honoured  me  with  your  confidence,  gladly  would  I  provide 
for  your  liberty  by  placing  you  as  nearly  in  the  situation  which  you  your¬ 
self  desire,  as  my  poor  means  have  the  power  of  accomplishing.  In  half  an 
hour  we  shall  be  in  danger  of  being  taken  by  the  English  parties,  which 
will  be  instantly  dispersed  in  every  direction  in  quest  of  us.  Now,  take 
notice,  lady,  I  know  a  place  in  which  I  can  take  refuge  with  my  friends  and 
countrymen,  those  gallant  Scots,  who  have  never  even  in  this  dishonoured 
age  bent  the  knee  to  Baal.  For  their  honour,  their  nicety  of  honour,  I 
could  in  other  days  have  answered  with  my  own  ;  but  of  late,  I  am  bound 
to  tell  you,  they  have  been  put  to  those  trials  by  which  the  most  generous 
affections  may  be  soured,  and  driven  to  a  species  of  frenzy,  the  more  wild 
that  it  is  founded  originally  on  the  noblest  feelings.  A  person  who  feels 
himself  deprived  of  his  natural  birthright,  denounced,  exposed  to  confisca¬ 
tion  and  death,  because  he  avouches  the  rights  of  his  king,  the  cause  of  his 
country,  ceases  on  his  part  to  be  nice  or  precise  in  estimating  the  degree  of 
retaliation  which  it  is  lawful  for  him  to  exercise  in  the  requital  of  such  in¬ 
juries;  and,  believe  me,  bitterly  should  I  lament  having  guided  you  into  a 
situation  which  you  might  consider  afflicting  or  degrading.” 

“  In  a  word  then,”  said  the  English  lady,  “  what  is  it  you  apprehend  I 
am  like  to  suffer  at  the  hands  of  your  friends,  whom  I  must  be  excused  for 
terming  rebels  ?” 

“  If,”  said  the  sister  Ursula,  “  your  friends,  whom  I  should  term  oppres¬ 
sors  and  tyrants,  take  our  land  and  our  lives,  seize  our  castles,  and  confis¬ 
cate  oHir  property,  you  must  confess,  that  the  rough  laws  of  war  indulge 
mine  with  the  privilege  of  retaliation.  There  can  be  no  fear,  that  such 
men,  under  any  circumstances,  would  ever  exercise  cruelty  or  insult  upon 
a  lady  of  your  rank  ;  but  it  is  another  thing  to  calculate  that  they  will 
abstain  from  such  means  of  extorting  advantage  from  your  captivity  as  are 
common  in  warfare.  You  would  not,  I  think,  wish  to  be  delivered  up  to 
the  English,  on  consideration  of  Sir  John  de  Walton  surrendering  the  Castle 
of  Douglas  to  its  natural  lord ;  yet,  were  you  in  the  hands  of  the  Bruce  or 
Douglas,  although  I  can  answer  for  your  being  treated  with  all  the  respect 
which  they  have  the  means  of  showing,  yet  I  own,  their  putting  you  at  such 
a  ransom  might  be  by  no  means  unlikely.” 

“  I  would  sooner  die,”  said  the  Lady  Berkely,  “  than  have  my  name 
mixed  up  in  a  treaty  so  disgraceful ;  and  De  Walton’s  reply  to  it  would,  I 
am  certain,  be  to  strike  the  head  from  the  messenger,  and  throw  it  from  the 
highest  tower  of  Douglas  Castle.” 

“Where,  then,  lady,  would  you  now  go,”  said  sister  Ursula,  “were  the 
choice  in  your  power  ?” 

“  To  my  own  castle,”  answered  Lady  Augusta,  “  where,  if  necessary,  I 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS.  349 

could  be  defended  even  against  the  king  himself,  until  I  could  place  at  least 
my  person  under  the  protection  of  the  Church.’^ 

“  In  that  case,^’  replied  Margaret  de  Ilautlieu,  “  my  power  of  rendering 
you  assistance  is  only  precarious,  yet  it  comprehends  a  choice  which  I  will 
willingly  submit  to  your  decision,  notwithstanding  I  thereby  subject  the 
secrets  of  my  friends  to  some  risk  of  being  discovered  and  frustrated.  But 
the  confidence  which  you  have  placed  in  me,  imposes  on  me  the  necessity 
of  committing  to  you  a  like  trust.  It  rests  with  you,  whether  you  will  pro¬ 
ceed  with  me  to  the  secret  rendezvous  of  the  Douglas  and  his  friends,  which 
I  may  be  blamed  for  making  known,  and  there  take  your  chance  of  the  re¬ 
ception  which  you  may  encounter,  since  I  cannot  warrant  you  of  any  thing 
save  honourable  treatment,  so  far  as  your  person  is  concerned ;  or  if  you 
should  think  this  too  hazardous,  make  the  best  of  your  way  at  once  for  the 
Border ;  in  which  last  case  I  will  proceed  as  far  as  I  can  with  you  towards 
the  English  line,  and  then  leave  you  to  pursue  your  journey,  and  to  obtain 
a  guard  and  a  conductor  among  your  own  countrymen.  Meantime,  it  will 
be  well  for  me  if  I  escape  being  taken,  since  the  abbot  would  not  shrink  at 
inflicting  upon  me  the  death  due  to  an  apostate  nun.’^ 

“  Such  cruelty,  my  sister,  could  hardly  be  inflicted  upon  one  who  had 
never  taken  the  religious  vows,  and  who  still,  according  to  the  laws  of  the 
Church,  had  a  right  to  make  a  choice  between  the  world  and  the  veil.’^ 

“  Such  choice  as  they  gave  their  gallant  victims,^^  said  Lady  Margaret, 
“  who  have  fallen  into  English  hands  during  these  merciless  wars,  —  such 
choice  as  they  gave  to  Wallace,  the  Champion  of  Scotland,  —  such  as  they 
gave  to  Ilay,  the  gentle  and  the  free,  —  to  Sommerville,  the  flower  of  chi¬ 
valry, —  and  to  Athol,  the  blood  relation  of  King  Edward  himself — all  of 
whom  were  as  much  traitors,  under  which  name  they  were  executed,  as 
Margaret  de  Ilautlieu  is  an  apostate  nun,  and  subject  to  the  rule  of  the 
cloister.’’ 

She  spoke  with  some  eagerness,  for  she  felt  as  if  the  English  lady  imputed 
to  her  more  coldness  than  she  was,  in  such  doubtful  circumstances,  conscious 
of  manifesting. 

“  And  after  all,”  she  proceeded,  “  you.  Lady  Augusta  de  Berkely,  what 
do  you  venture,  if  you  run  the  risk  of  falling  into  the  hands  of  your  lover? 
AVdiat  dreadful  risk  do  you  incur?  You  need  not,  methinks,  fear  being  im¬ 
mured  between  four  walls,  with  a  basket  of  bread  and  a  cruise  of  water, 
which,  were  I  seized,  would  be  the  only  support  allowed  to  me  for  the  short 
space  that^my  life  would  be  prolonged.  Nay,  even  were  you  to  be  betrayed 
to  the  rebel  Scots,  as  you  call  tliem,  a  captivity  among  the  hills,  sweetened 
by  the  hope  of  deliverance,  and  rendered  tolerable  by  all  the  alleviations 
which  the  circumstances  of  your  captors  allowed  them  the  means  of  supply¬ 
ing,  were  not,  I  think,  a  lot  so  very  hard  to  endure.” 

“  Nevertheless,”  answered  the  Lady  of  Berkely,  “  frightful  enough  it 
must  have  appeared  to  me,  since,  to  fly  from  such,  I  threw  myself  upon 
your  guidance.” 

‘•And,  whatever  you  think  or  suspect,”  answered  the  novice,  “  I  am  as 
true  to  you  as  ever  was  one  maiden  to  another ;  and  as  sure  as  ever  sister 
Ursula  was  true  to  her  vows,  although  they  were  never  completed,  so  will  I 
be  faithful  to  your  secret,  even  at  the  risk  of  betraying  my  own.” 

“  Hearken,  lady !”  she  said,  suddenly  pausing,  “  do  you  hear  that?” 

The  sound  to  which  she  alluded  was  the  same  imitation  of  the  cry  of  an 
owlet,  which  the  lady  had  before  heard  under  the  walls  of  the  convent. 

“  These  sounds,”  said  Margaret  de  Ilautlieu,  “  announce  that  one  is  near, 
more  able  than  I  am  to  direct  us  in  this  matter.  I  must  go  forward  and 
speak  with  him  ;  and  this  man,  our  guide,  will  remain  by  you  for  a  little 
space ;  nor,  when  he  quits  your  bridle,  need  you  wait  for  any  other  signal, 
but  ride  forward  on  the  woodland  path,  and  obey  the  advice  and  directions 
which  will  be  given  you.” 

2e 


350 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


“  Stay  !  stay !  sister  Ursula  I”  cried  the  Lady  de  Berkely — “  abandon  me 
not  in  this  moment  of  uncertainty  and  distress  I” 

“  It  must  be,  for  the  sake  of  both,^^  returned  Margaret  de  Hautlieu.  “  I 
also  am  in  uncertainty — I  also  am  in  distress — and  patience  and  obedience 
are  the  only  virtues  which  can  save  us  both/^ 

So  saying,  she  struck  her  horse  with  the  riding  rod,  and  moving  briskly 
forward,  disappeared  among  the  tangled  boughs  of  a  thicket.  The  Lady 
of  Berkely  would  have  followed  her  companion,  but  the  cavalier  who  at¬ 
tended  them  laid  a  strong  hand  upon  the  bridle  of  her  palfrey,  with  a  look 
wliich  implied  that  he  would  not  permit  her  to  proceed  in  that  direction. 
Terrified,  therefore,  though  she  could  not  exactly  state  a  reason  why,  the 
Lady  of  Berkely  remained  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  thicket,  instinct¬ 
ively,  as  it  were,  expecting  to  see  a  band  of  English  archers,  or  rugged 
Scottish  insurgents,  issue  from  its  tangled  skirts,  and  doubtful  which  she 
should  have  most  considered  as  the  objects  of  her  terror.  In  the  distress 
of  her  uncertainty,  she  again  attempted  to  move  forward,  but  the  stern 
check  which  her  attendant  again  bestowed  upon  her  bridle,  proved  suffi¬ 
ciently  that  in  restraining  her  wishes,  the  stranger  was  not  likely  to  spare 
the  strength  which  he  certainly  possessed.  At  length,  after  some  ten  mi¬ 
nutes  had  elapsed,  the  cavalier  withdrew  his  hand  from  her  bridle,  and 
pointing  with  his  lance  towards  the  thicket,  through  which  there  winded  a 
narrow,  scarce  visible  path,  seemed  to  intimate  to  the  lady  that  her  road 
lay  in  that  direction,  and  that  he  would  no  longer  prevent  her  following  it. 

“  Do  you  not  go  with  me  ‘i”  said  the  lady,  who,  having  been  accustomed 
to  this  man’s  company  since  they  left  the  convent,  had  by  degrees  come  to 
look  upon  him  as  a  sort  of  protector.  He,  however,  gravely  shook  his  head, 
as  if  to  excuse  complying  with  a  request,  which  it  was  not  in  his  power  tc 
grant ;  and  turning  his  steed  in  a  different  direction,  retired  at  a  pace  which 
soon  carried  him  from  her  sight.  She  had  then  no  alternative  but  to  take 
the  path  of  the  thicket,  which  had  been  followed  by  Margaret  de  Hautlieu, 
nor  did  she'pursue  it  long  before  coming  in  sight  of  a  singular  spectacle. 

The  trees  grew  wider  as  the  lady  advanced,  and  when  she  entered  the 
thicket,  she  perceived  that,  though  hedged  in  as  it  were  by  an  enclosure  of 
copsewood,  it  was  in  the  interior  altogether  occupied  by  a  few  of  the  mag¬ 
nificent  trees,  such  as  seemed  to  have  been  the  ancestors  of  the  forest,  and 
which,  though  few  in  number,  were  sufficient  to  overshade  all  the  unoccu¬ 
pied  ground,  by  the  great  extent  of  their  complicated  branches.  Beneath 
one  of  these  lay  stretched  something  of  a  grey  colour,  which,  as  it  drew 
itself  together,  exhibited  the  figure  of  a  man  sheathed  in  armour,  but 
strangely  accoutred,  and  in  a  manner  so  bizarre,  as  to  indicate  some  of  the 
wild  fancies  peculiar  to  the  knights  of  that  period.  His  armour  was  inge¬ 
niously  painted,  so  as  to  represent  a  skeleton  ;  the  ribs  being  constituted  by 
the  corselet  and  its  back-piece.  The  shield  represented  an  owl  with  its 
wings  spread,  a  device  which  was  repeated  upon  the  helmet,  which  appeared 
to  be  completely  covered  by  an  image  of  the  same  bird  of  ill  omen.  But 
that  which  was  particularly  calculated  to  excite  surprise  in  the  spectator, 
was  the  great  height  and  thinness  of  the  figure,  which,  as  it  arose  from  the 
ground,  and  placed  itself  in  an  erect  posture,  seemed  rather  to  resemble  an 
apparition  in  the  act  of  extricating  itself  from  the  grave,  than  that  of  an 
ordinary  man  rising  upon  his  feet.  The  horse,  too,  upon  which  the  lady 
rode,  started  back  and  snorted,  either  at  the  sudden  change  of  posture  of 
this  ghastly  specimen  of  chivalry,  or  disagreeably  affected  by  some  odour 
which  accompanied  his  presence.  The  lady  herself  manifested  some  alarm, 
for  although  she  did  not  utterly  believe  she  was  in  the  presence  of  a  super 
natural  being,  yet,  among  all  the  strange  half-frantic  disguises  of  chivalry 
this  was  assuredly  the  most  uncouth  which  she  had  ever  seen  ;  and,  con¬ 
sidering  how  often  the  knights  of  the  period  pushed  their  dreamy  fancies 
to  the  borders  of  insanity,  it  seemed  at  best  no  very  safe  adventure  to  meet 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


351 


ono  accoutred  in  the  embloins  of  the  King  of  Terrors  himself,  alone,  and 
in  the  midst  of  a  wild  forest.  Be  the  knight’s  character  and  purposes  what 
they  might,  she  resolved,  however,  to  accost  him  in  the  language  and  man¬ 
ner  observed  in  romances  upon  such  occasions,  in  the  hope  even  that  if  ho 
were  a  madman  ho  might  prove  a  peaceable  one,  and  accessible  to  civility. 

“  Sir  Knight,”  she  said,  in  as  firm  a  tone  as  she  could  assume,  “  right 
sorry  am  I,  if,  by  my  hasty  approach,  I  have  disturbed  your  solitary  medi¬ 
tations.  My  horse,  sensible  1  think  of  the  presence  of  yours,  brought  me 
hither,  without  my  being  aware  whom  or  what  I  was  to  encounter.” 

“  I  am  one,”  answered  the  stranger,  in  a  solemn  tone,  “  whom  few  men 
seek  to  meet,  till  the  time  comes  that  they  can  avoid  me  no  longer.” 

“You  s^ieak.  Sir  Knight,”  replied  the  Lady  de  Berkely,  “  according  to 
the  dismal  character  of  which  it  has  pleased  you  to  assume  the  distinction. 
May  I  appeal  to  one  whose  exterior  is  so  formidable,  for  the  purpose  of 
requesting  some  directions  to  guide  me  through  this  wild  wood ;  as,  for  in¬ 
stance,  what  is  the  name  of  the  nearest  castle,  town,  or  hostelry,  and  by 
what  course  I  am  best  likely  to  reach  such  ?” 

“  It  is  a  singular  audacity,”  answered  the  Knight  of  the  Tomb,  “  that 
would  enter  into  conversation  with  him  who  is  termed  the  Inexorable,  the 
Unsparing,  and  the  Pitiless,  whom  even  the  most  miserable  forbears  to  call 
to  his  assistance,  lest  his  prayers  should  be  too  soon  answered.” 

“  fSir  Knight,”  replied  the  Lady  Augusta,  “  the  character  which  you  have 
assumed,  unquestionably  for  good  reasons,  dictates  to  you  a  peculiar  course 
of  speech ;  but  although  your  part  is  a  sad  one,  it  does  not,  I  should  sup¬ 
pose,  render  it  necessary  for  you  to  refuse  those  acts  of  civility  to  w'hich 
you  must  have  bound  yourself  in  taking  the  high  vows  of  chivalry.” 

“  If  you  will  trust  to  my  guidance,”  replied  the  ghastly  figure,  “  there  is 
only  one  condition  upon  which  I  can  grant  you  the  information  which  you 
require ;  and  that  is,  that  you  follow  my  footsteps  without  any  questions 
asked  as  to  the  tendency  of  our  journey.” 

“  I  suppose  I  must  submit  to  your  conditions,”  she  answered,  “  if  you  are 
indeed  pleased  to  take  upon  yourself  the  task  of  being  my  guide.  In  my 
heart  I  conceive  you  to  be  one  of  the  unhappy  gentlemen  of  Scotland,  who 
are  now  in  arms,  as  they  say,  for  the  defence  of  their  liberties.  A  rash 
undertaking  has  brought  me  within  the  sphere  of  your  influence,  and  now 
the  only  favour  I  have  to  request  of  you,  against  whom  I  never  did,  nor 
planned  any  evil,  is  the  guidance  which  your  knowledge  of  the  country 
permits  you  easily  to  afibrd  me  in  my  way  to  the  frontiers  of  England.  Be¬ 
lieve  that  what  I  may  see  of  your  haunts  or  of  your  practices,  shall  be  to 
me  things  invisible,  as  if  they  were  actually  concealed  by  the  sepulchre 
itself,  of  the  king  of  which  it  has  pleased  you  to  assume  the  attributes  ; 
and  if  a  sum  of  money,  enough  to  be  the  ransom  of  a  wealthy  earl,  will 
purchase  such  a  favour  at  need,  such  a  ransom  will  be  frankly  paid,  and 
with  as  much  fidelity  as  ever  it  was  rendered  by  a  prisoner  to  the  knight  by 
whom  he  was  taken.  Do  not  reject  me,  princely  Bruce — noble  Douglas  — 
if  indeed  it  is  to  either  of  these  that  I  address'myself  in  this  my  last  extre¬ 
mity —  men  speak  of  both  as  fearful  enemies,  but  generous  knights  and 
faithful  friends.  Let  me  entreat  you  to  remember  h^w  much  you  would 
wish  your  own  friends  and  connexions  to  meet  wdth  compassion  under 
similar  circumstances,  at  the  hands  of  the  knights  of  England.” 

“  And  have  they  done  so  ?”  replied  the  Knight,  in  a  voice  more  gloomy 
than  before,  “or  do  you  act  wisely,  while  imploring  the  protection  of  one 
whom  you  believe  to  be  a  true  Scottish  knight,  for  no  other  reason  than  the 
extreme  and  extravagant  misery  of  his  appearance  ?  —  is  it,  I  say,  well  or 
wise  to  remind  him  of  the  mode  in  which  the  lords  of  England  have  treated 
the  lovely  maidens  and  the  high-born  dames  of  Scotland  ?  Have  not  their 
prison  cages  been  suspended  from  the  battlements  of  castles,  that  their 
captivity  might  loe  kept  in  view  of  every  base  burgher,  who  should  desire 


WAVEELEY  NOVELS. 


352 

to  look  upon  the  miseries  of  the  noblest  peeresses,  yea,  even  the  Queen  of 
Scotland?*  Is  this  a  recollection  which  can  inspire  a  Scottish  knight  with 
compassion  towards  an  English  lady  ?  or  is  it  a  thought  w^hich  can  do  aught 
but  swell  the  deeply  sworn  hatred  of  Edward  Plantagenet,  the  author  of 
these  evils,  that  boils  in  every  drop  of  Scottish  blood  which  still  feels  the 
throb  of  life?  No;  —  it  is  all  you  can  expect,  if,  cold  and  pitiless  as  the 
sepulchre  I  represent,  I  leave  you  unassisted  in  the  helpless  condition  in 
which  you  describe  yourself  to  be/^ 

“  You  will  not  be  so  inhuman,''  replied  the  lady  ;  “  in  doing  so  you  must 
surrender  every  right  to  honest  fame,  which  you  have  won  either  by  sword 
or  lance.  You  must  surrender  every  pretence  to  that  justice  which  affects 
the  merit  of  supporting  the  weak  against  the  strong.  You  must  make  it 
your  principle  to  avenge  the  wrongs  and  tyranny  of  Edward  Plantagenet 
upon  the  dames  and  damosels  of  England,  who  have  neither  access  to  his 
councils,  nor  perhaps  give  him  their  approbation  in  his  wars  against  Scot¬ 
land." 

“  It  would  not  then,"  said  the  Knight  of  the  Sepulchre,  “  induce  you  to 
depart  from  your  request,  should  I  tell  you  the  evils  to  which  you  would 
subject  yourself  should  we  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  English  troops,  and 
should  they  find  you  under  such  ill-omened  protection  as  my  own  ?" 

“  Be  assured,"  said  the  lady,  “  the  consideration  of  such  an  event  does 
not  in  the  least  shake  my  resolution,  or  desire  of  confiding  in  your  protec¬ 
tion.  You  may  probably  know  who  I  am,  and  may  judge  how  far  even 
Edward  would  hold  himself  entitled  to  extend  punishment  towards  me." 

“  How  am  I  to  know  you,"  replied  the  ghastly  cavalier,  “  or  your  circum¬ 
stances?  They  must  be  extraordinary  indeed,  if  they  could  form  a  check, 
either  of  justice  or  humanity,  upon  the  revengeful  feelings  of  Edward.  All 
who  know  him  are  well  assured  that  it  is  no  ordinary  motive  that  will  in¬ 
duce  him  to  depart  from  the  indulgence  of  his  evil  temper.  But  be  it  as  it 
may,  you,  lady,  if  a  lady  you  be,  throw  yourself  as  a  burden  upon  me,  and 
I  must  discharge  myself  of  my  trust  as  I  best  may ;  for  this  purpose  you 
must  be  guided  implicitly  by  my  directions,  which  will  be  given  after  the 
fashion  of  those  of  the  spiritual  world,  being  intimations,  rather  than  de¬ 
tailed  instructions  for  your  conduct,  and  expressed  rather  by  commands, 
than  by  any  reason  or  argument.  In  this  way  it  is  possible  that  I  may  be 
of  service  to  you ;  in  any  other  case,  it  is  most  likely  that  I  may  fail  you  at 
need,  and  melt  from  your  side  like  a  phantom  which  dreads  the  approach 
of  day." 

“  You  cannot  be  so  cruel !"  answered  the  lady.  “  A  gentleman,  a  knight, 
and  a  nobleman — and  I  persuade  myself  I  speak  to  all — hath  duties  which 
he  cannot  abandon." 

“He  has,  I  grant  it,  and  they  are  most  sacred  to  me,"  answered  the 
Spectral  Knight ;  “  but  I  have  also  duties  whose  obligations  are  doubly 
binding,  and  to  which  I  must  sacrifice  those  which  would  otherwise  lead 
me  to  devote  myself  to  your  rescue.  The  only  question  is  whether  you  feel 
inclined  to  accept  my  protection  on  the  limited  terms  on  which  alone  I  can 
extend  it,  or  whether  you  deem  it  better  that  each  go  their  own  way,  and 
limit  themselves  to  their  own  resources,  and  trust  the  rest  to  Providence  ?" 

“  Alas !"  replied  the  lady,  “  beset  and  hard  pressed  as  I  am,  to  ask  me  to 
form  a  resolution  for  myself,  is  like  calling  on  the  wretch  in  the  act  of  fall¬ 
ing  from  a  precipice,  to  form  a  calm  judgment  by  what  twig  he  may  best 
gain  the  chance  of  breaking  his  fall.  His  answer  must  necessarily  be,  that 
he  will  cling  to  that  which  he  can  easiest  lay  hold  of,  and  trust  the  rest  to 
Providence.  I  accept  therefore  your  olfer  of  protection  in  the  modified  way 
you  are  pleased  to  limit  it,  and  I  put  my  faith  in  Heaven  and  in  you.  To 


•  The  Queen  of  Robert  the  Bruce,  and  the  Countess  of  Buchan,  by  whom,  as  one  of  Macduff’s  descent,  he 
was  crowned  at  Scone,  were  secured  in  the  manner  described. 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


353 


aid  me  effectually,  however,  you  must  know  my  name  and  my  circum¬ 
stances.’’ 

“  All  these,”  answered  the  Knight  of  the  Sepulchre,  “  have  already  been 
told  me  by  your  late  companion  ;  for  deem  not,  young  lady,  that  either 
beauty,  rank,  extended  domains,  unlimited  wealth,  or  the  highest  accom¬ 
plishments,  can  weigh  any  thing  in  the  consideration  of  him  who  wears  the 
trappings  of  the  tomb,  and  whose  affections  and  desires  are  long  buried  in 
the  charnel-house.” 

“  May  your  faith,”  said  the  Lady  Augusta  de  Berkely,  “  be  as  steady  as 
your  words  appear  severe,  and  I  submit  to  your  guidance,  without  the  least 
doubt  or  fear  that  it  will  prove  otherwise  than  as  I  venture  to  hope.” 


Cjin|itn  tljB  /iftBEntlj. 

Like  the  dog  following  its  master,  when  engaged  in  training  him  to  the 
sport  in  which  he  desires  he  should  excel,  the  Lady  Augusta  felt  herself 
occasionally  treated  with  a  severity,  calculated  to  impress  upon  her  the 
most  implicit  obedience  and  attention  to  the  Knight  of  the  Tomb,  in  M^hom 
she  had  speedily  persuaded  herself  she  saw  a  principal  man  among  the 
retainers  of  Douglas,  if  not  James  of  Douglas  himself.  Still,  however,  the 
ideas  which  the  lady  had  formed  of  the  redoubted  Douglas,  were  those  of 
a  knight  highly  accomplished  in  the  duties  of  chivalry,  devoted  in  particular 
to  the  service  of  the  fair  sex,  and  altogether  unlike  the  personage  with 
whom  she  found  herself  so  strangely  united,  or  rather  for  the  present  en¬ 
thralled  to.  Nevertheless,  when,  as  if  to  abridge  farther  communication, 
he  turned  short  into  one  of  the  mazes  of  the  wood,  and  seemed  to  adopt  a 
pace,  which,  from  the  nature  of  the  ground,  the  horse  on  which  the  Lady 
Augusta  was  mounted  had  difficulty  to  keep  up  with,  she  followed  him  with 
the  alarm  and  speed  of  the  young  spaniel,  which  from  fear  rather  than 
fondness,  endeavours  to  keep  up  with  the  track  of  its  severe  master.  The 
simile,  it  is  true,  is  not  a  very  polite  one,  nor  entirely  becoming  an  age, 
when  women  were  worshipped  with  a  certain  degree  of  devotion  ;  but  such 
circumstances  as  the  present  were  also  rare,  and  the  Lady  Augusta  de 
Berkely  could  not  but  persuade  herself  that  the  terrible  champion,  whose 
name  had  been  so  long  the  theme  of  her  anxiety,  and  the  terror  indeed  of 
the  whole  country,  might  be  able,  some  way  or  other,  to  accomplish  her 
deliverance.  She,  therefore,  exerted  herself  to  the  utmost,  so  as  to  keep 
pace  with  the  phantom-like  apparition,  and  followed  the  knight,  as  the 
evening  shadow  keeps  watch  upon  the  belated  rustic. 

As  the  lady  obviously  suffered  under  the  degree  of  exertion  necessary  to 
keep  her  palfrey  from  stumbling  in  these  steep  and  broken  paths,  the  Knight 
of  the  Tomb  slackened  his  pace,  looked  anxiously  around  him,  and  muttered 
apparently  to  himself,  though  probably  intended  for  his  companion’s  ear, 
“  There  is  no  occasion  for  so  much  haste.” 

lie  proceeded  at  a  slower  rate,  until  they  seemed  to  be  on  the  brink  of  a 
ravine,  being  one  of  many  irregularities  on  the  surfiice  of  the  ground,  effected 
by  the  sudden  torrents  peculiar  to  that  country,  and  which,  winding  among 
the  trees  and  copse-wood,  formed,  as  it  were,  a  net  of  places  of  conceal¬ 
ment,  opening  into  each  other,  so  that  there  was  perhaps  no  place  in  the 
world  so  tit  for  the  purpose  of  ambuscade.  The  spot  where  the  borderer 
Turnbull  had  made  his  escape  at  the  hunting  match,  was  one  specimen  of 
this  broken  country,  and  perhaps  connected  itself  with  the  various  thickets 
and  passes  through  which  the  knight  and  pilgrim  occasionally  seemed  to 

VoL.  X1I.~ 23  2e2 


354 


WAVE  11  LEY  NOVELS. 


take  their  way,  though  that  ravine  was  at  a  considerable  distance  from  their 
present  route. 

Meanwhile  the  knight  led  the  way,  as  if  rather  with  the  purpose  of  be¬ 
wildering  the  Lady  Augusta  amidst  these  interminable  woods,  than  follow¬ 
ing  any  exact  or  fixed  path.  Here  they  ascended,  and  anon  appeared  to 
descend  in  the  same  direction,  finding  only  boundless  -wildernesses,  and 
varied  combinations  of  tangled  woodland  scenery.  Such  part  of  the  coun¬ 
try  as  seemed  arable,  the  knight  appeared  carefully  to  avoid ;  yet  he  could 
not  direct  his  course  with  so  much  certainty  but  that  he  occasionally  crossed 
the  path  of  inhabitants  and  cultivators,  who  showed  a  consciousness  of  so 
singular  a  presence,  but  never  as  the  lady  observed  evinced  any  symptoms 
of  recognition.  The  inference  was  obvious,  that  the  spectre  knight  was 
known  in  the  country,  and  that  he  possessed  adherents  or  accomplices  there, 
who  were  at  least  so  far  his  friends,  as  to  avoid  giving  any  alarm,  which 
might  be  the  means  of  his  discovery.  The  well-imitated  cry  of  the  night- 
owl,  too  frequent  a  guest  in  the  wilderness  that  its  call  should  be  a  subject 
of  surprise,  seemed  to  be  a  signal  generally  understood  among  them  ;  for  it 
was  heard  in  different  parts  of  the  wood,  and  the  Lady  Augusta,  experienced 
in  such  journeys  by  her  former  travels  under  the  guidance  of  the  minstrel 
Bertram,  was  led  to  observe,  that  on  hearing  such  wild  notes,  her  guide 
changed  the  direction  of  his  course,  and  betook  himself  to  paths  which  led 
through  deeper  wilds,  and  more  impenetrable  thickets.  This  happened  so 
often,  that  a  new  alarm  came  upon  the  unfortunate  pilgrim,  which  suggested 
other  motives  of  terror.  Was  she  not  the  confidant,  and  almost  the  tool  of 
some  artful  design,  laid  with  a  view  to  an  extensive  operation,  which  was 
destined  to  terminate,  as  the  efforts  of  Douglas  had  before  done,  in  the  sur¬ 
prise  of  his  hereditary  castle,  the  massacre  of  the  English  garrison  —  and 
finally  in  the  dishonour  and  death  of  that  Sir  John  de  Walton,  upon  whose 
fate  she  had  long  believed,  or  taught  herself  to  believe,  that  her  own  was 
dependent? 

It  no  sooner  flashed  across  the  mind  of  the  Lady  Augusta  that  she  was 
engaged  in  some  such  conspiracy  with  a  Scottish  insurgent,  than  she  shud¬ 
dered  at  the  consequences  of  the  dark  transactions  in  which  she  had  now 
become  involved,  and  which  appeared  to  have  a  tendency  so  very  different 
from  what  she  had  at  first  apprehended. 

The  hours  of  the  morning  of  this  remarkable  day,  being  that  of  Palm 
Sunday,  were  thus  drawn  out  in  wandering  from  place  to  place  ;  while  the 
Lady  de  Berkely  occasionally  interposed  by  petitions  for  liberty,  which  she 
endeavoured  to  express  in  the  most  moving  and  pathetic  manner,  and  by 
offers  of  wealth  and  treasures,  to  which  no  answer  whatever  was  returned 
by  her  strange  guide. 

At  length,  as  if  worn  out  by  his  captive’s  importunity,  the  knight,  coming 
close  up  to  the  bridle-rein  of  the  Lady  Augusta,  said  in  a  solemn  tone — 

“  I  am,  as  you  may  well  believe,  none  of  those  knights  who  roam  through 
wood  and  wild,  seeking  adventures,  by  which  I  may  obtain  grace  in  the  eyes 
of  a  fair  lady :  Yet  will  I  to  a  certain  degree  grant  the  request  which  thou 
dost  solicit  so  anxiously,  and  the  arbitration  of  thy  fate  shall  depend  upon 
the  pleasure  of  him  to  whose  will  thou  hast  expressed  thyself  ready  to  sub¬ 
mit  thine  own.  I  will,  on  our  arrival  at  the  place  of  our  destination,  which 
is  now  at  hand,  write  to  Sir  John  de  Walton,  and  send  my  letter,  together 
with  thy  fair  self,  by  a  special  messenger.  He  will,  no  doubt,  speedily  attend 
our  summons,  and  thou  shalt  thyself  be  satisfied,  that  even  he  who  has  as 
yet  appeared  deaf  to  entreaty,  and  insensible  to  earthly  affections,  has  still 
some  sympathy  for  beauty  and  for  virtue.  I  will  put  the  choice  of  safety, 
and  thy  future  happiness,  into  thine  own  hands,  and  those  of  the  man  whom 
thou  hast  chosen ;  and  thou  mayst  select  which  thou  wilt  betwixt  those  and 
misery.” 

While  he  thus  spoke,  one  of  those  ravines  or  clefts  in  the  earth  seemed  to 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


355 


yuwn  before  them,  and  entering  it  at  the  upper  end,  the  spectre  knight, 
with  an  attention  which  he  had  not  yet  shown,  guided  the  lady’s  courser  by 
the  rein  down  the  broken  and  steep  path  by  which  alone  the  bottom  of  the 
tangled  dingle  was  accessible. 

When  placed  on  tirm  ground  after  the  dangers  of  a  descent,  in  which  her 
palfrey  seemed  to  be  sustained  by  the  personal  strength  and  address  of  the 
singular  being  who  had  hold  of  the  bridle,  the  lady  looked  with  some  as¬ 
tonishment  at  a  place  so  well  adapted  for  concealment  as  that  which  she 
had  now  reached.  It  appeared  evident  that  it  was  used  for  this  purpose, 
for  more  than  one  stifled  answer  was  given  to  a  very  low  bugle-note  emitted 
by  the  Knight  of  the  Tomb ;  and  when  the  same  note  was  repeated,  about 
half  a  score  of  armed  men,  some  wearing  the  dress  of  soldiers,  others  those 
of  shepherds  and  agriculturists,  showed  themselves  imperfectly,  as  if  ac¬ 
knowledging  the  summons. 


(Uljnpttr  tjjt  liittnitlj. 

“Hail  to  you,  my  gallant  friends!”  said  the  Knight  of  the  Tomb  to  his 
companions,  who  seemed  to  welcome  him  with  the  eagerness  of  men  en¬ 
gaged  in  the  same  perilous  undertaking.  “  The  winter  has  passed  over, 
the  festival  of  Palm  Sunday  is  come,  and  as  surely  as  the  ice  and  snow  of 
this  season  shall  not  remain  to  chill  the  earth  through  the  ensuing  summer, 
so  surely  we,  in  a  few  hours,  keep  our  word  to  those  southern  braggarts, 
who  think  their  language  of  boasting  and  malice  has  as  much  force  over 
our  Scottish  bosoms,  as  the  blast  possesses  over  the  autumn  fruits ;  but  it  is 
not  so.  While  we  choose  to  remain  concealed,  they  may  as  vainly  seek  to 
descry  us,  as  a  housewife  would  search  for  the  needle  she  has  dropped 
among  the  withered  foliage  of  yon  gigantic  oak.  Yet  a  few  hours,  and  the 
lost  needle  shall  become  the  exterminating  sword  of  the  Genius  of  Scotland, 
avenging  ten  thousand  injuries,  and  especially  the  life  of  the  gallant  Lord 
Douglas,  cruelly  done  to  death  as  an  exile  from  his  native  country.” 

An  exclamation  between  a  yell  and  a  groan  burst  from  the  assembled 
retainers  of  Douglas,  upon  being  reminded  of  the  recent  death  of  their 
chieftain  ;  while  they  seemed  at  the  same  time  sensible  of  the  necessity  of 
making  little  noise,  lest  they  should  give  the  alarm  to  some  of  the  numerous 
English  parties  which  were  then  traversing  different  parts  of  the  forest. 
The  acclamation,  so  cautiously  uttered,  had  scarce  died  away  in  silence, 
when  the  Knight  of  the  Tomb,  or,  to  call  him  by  his  proper  name,  Sir 
James  Douglas,  again  addressed  his  handful  of  faithful  followers. 

“One  effort,  my  friends,  may  yet  be  made  to  end  our  strife  with  the 
Southron  without  bloodshed.  Fate  has  within  a  few  hours  thrown  into  my 
power  the  young  heiress  of  Berkely,  for  whose  sake  it  is  said  Sir  John  de 
Walton  keeps  with  such  obstinacy  the  castle  which  is  mine  by  inheritance. 
Is  there  one  among  you  who  dare  go,  as  the  honourable  escort  of  Augusta 
de  Berkely,  bearing  a  letter,  explaining  the  terms  on  which  I  am  willing  to 
restore  her  to  her  lover,  to  freedom,  and  to  her  English  lordships?” 

“  If  there  is  none  other,”  said  a  tall  man,  dressed  in  the  tattered  attire 
of  a  woodsman,  and  being,  in  fact,  no  other  than  the  very  Michael  Turn- 
bull,  who  had  already  given  so  extraordinary  a  proof  of  his  undaunted  man¬ 
hood,  “  I  will  gladly  be  the  person  who  will  be  the  lady’s  henchman  on  this 
expedition.” 

“  Thou  art  never  wanting,”  said  the  Douglas,  “  where  a  manly  deed  is  to 


35G 


WAVER  LEY  NOVELS. 


Lc  done  ;  but  remember,  this  lady  must  pledge  to  us  her  word  and  oath 
that  she  will  hold  herself  our  faithful  prisoner,  rescue  or  no  rescue  ;  that 
she  will  consider  herself  as  pledged  for  the  life,  freedom,  and  fair  usage  of 
Michael  Turnbull  ;  and  that  if  Sir  John  de  Walton  refuse  my  terms,  she 
must  hold  herself  obliged  to  return  with  Turnbull  to  our  presence,  in  order 
to  be  disposed  of  at  our  pleasure.’’ 

There  was  much  in  these  conditions,  which  struck  the  Lady  Augusta  with 
natural  doubt  and  horror ;  nevertheless,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  decla¬ 
ration  of  the  Douglas  gave  a  species  of  decision  to  her  situation,  which 
might  have  otherwise  been  unattainable ;  and  from  the  high  opinion  which 
she  entertained  of  the  Douglas’s  chivalry,  she  could  not  bring  herself  to 
think,  that  any  part  which  he  might  play  in  the  approaching  drama  would 
be  other  than  that  which  a  perfect  good  knight  would,  under  all  circum¬ 
stances,  maintain  towards  his  enemy.  Even  with  respect  to  De  Walton,  she 
felt  herself  relieved  of  a  painful  difficulty.  The  idea  of  her  being  dis¬ 
covered  by  the  knight  himself,  in  a  male  disguise,  had  preyed  upon  her 
spirits ;  and  she  felt  as  if  guilty  of  a  departure  from  the  laws  of  woman¬ 
hood,  in  having  extended  her  favour  towards  him  beyond  maidenly  limits  ; 
a  step,  too,  which  might  tend  to  lessen  her  in  the  eyes  of  the  lover  for  whom 
she  had  hazarded  so  much. 

“The  heart,  she  said,  is  lightly  prized, 

Tiiat  is  but  lightly  won; 

And  long  shall  mourn  the  heartless  man, 

That  leaves  his  love  too  soon.” 

On  the  other  hand,  to  be  brought  before  him  as  a  prisoner,  was  indeed  a 
circumstance  equally  perplexing  as  unpleasing,  but  it  was  one  which  was 
beyond  her  control,  and  the  Douglas,  into  whose  hands  she  had  fallen,  ap¬ 
peared  to  her  to  represent  the  deity  in  the  play,  whose  entrance  was  almost 
sufficient  to  bring  its  perplexities  to  a  conclusion  ;  she  therefore  not  unwill¬ 
ingly  submitted  to  take  what  oaths  and  promises  were  required  by  the 
party  in  whose  hands  she  found  herself,  and  accordingly  engaged  to  be  a 
true  prisoner,  whatever  might  occur.  Meantime  she  strictly  obeyed  the 
directions  of  those  who  had  her  motions  at  command,  devoutly  praying  that 
circumstances,  in  themselves  so  adverse,  might  nevertheless  work  together 
for  the  safety  of  her  lover  and  her  own  freedom. 

A  pause  ensued,  during  which  a  slight  repast. was  placed  before  the  Lady, 
Augusta,  who  was  well-nigh  exhausted  with  the  fatigues  of  her  journey. 

Douglas  and  his  partisans,  meanwhile,  whispered  together,  as  if  unwilling 
she  should  hear  their  conference  ;  while,  to  purchase  their  good-will,  if  pos¬ 
sible,  she  studiously  avoided  every  appearance  of  listening. 

After  some  conversation,  Turnbull,  who  appeared  to  consider  the  lady  as 
peculiarly  his  charge,  said  to  her  in  a  harsh  voice,  “  Do  not  fear,  lady ;  no 
wrong  shall  be  done  you ;  nevertheless,  you  must  be  content  for  a  space  to 
be  blindfolded.” 

She  submitted  to  this  in  silent  terror ;  and  the  trooper,  wrapping  part 
of  a  mantle  round  her  head,  did  not  assist  her  to  remount  her  palfrey,  but 
lent  her  his  arm  to  support  her  in  this  blinded  state. 


(CjjnptBr  tljE  linButBEntl). 

The  ground  which  they  traversed  was,  as  Lady  Augusta  could  feel,  very 
broken  and  uneven,  and  sometimes,  as  she  thought,  encumbered  with  ruins, 
which  were  difficult  to  surmount.  The  strength  of  her  comrade  assisted  her 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


357 


forward  on  such  occasions ;  but  his  help  was  so  roughly  administered,  that 
the  lady  once  or  twice,  in  fear  or  suffering,  was  compelled  to  groan  or  sigh 
heavily,  whatever  was  her  desire  to  suppress  such  evidence  of  the  apprehen¬ 
sion  which  she  underwent,  or  the  pain  which  she  endured.  Presently,  upon 
an  occasion  of  this  kind,  she  was  distinctly  sensible  that  the  rough  woodsman 
was  removed  from  her  side,  and  another  of  the  party  substituted  in  his  stead, 
whose  voice,  more  gentle  than  that  of  his  companions,  she  thought  she  liad 
lately  heard. 

“  Noble  lady,’'  were  the  words,  “  fear  not  the  slightest  injury  at  our  hands, 
and  accept  of  my  ministry  instead  of  that  of  my  henchman,  who  has  gone 
forward  with  our  letter ;  do  not  think  me  presuming  on  my  situation  if  I 
bear  you  in  my  arms  through  ruins  where  you  could  not  easily  move  alone 
and  blindfold.” 

At  the  same  time  the  Lady  Augusta  Berkely  felt  herself  raised  from  the 
earth  in  the  strong  arms  of  a  man,  and  borne  onward  with  the  utmost 
gentleness,  without  the  necessity  of  making  those  painful  exertions  which 
had  been  formerly  required.  She  was  ashamed  of  her  situation  ;  but,  how¬ 
ever  delicate,  it  was  no  time  to  give  vent  to  complaints,  which  might  have 
given  offence  to  persons  whom  it  was  her  interest  to  conciliate.  She, 
therefore,  submitted  to  necessity,  and  heard  the  following  words  whispered 
in  her  ear. 

“  Fear  nothing  ;  there  is  no  evil  intended  you ;  nor  shall  Sir  John  de  Walton, 
if  he  loves  you  as  you  deserve  at  his  hand,  receive  any  harm  on  our  part. 
We  call  on  him  but  to  do  justice  to  ourselves  and  to  you;  and  be  assured 
you  will  best  accomplish  your  own  happiness  by  aiding  our  views,  which 
are  equally  in  favour  of  your  wishes  and  your  freedom.” 

The  Lady  Augusta  would  have  made  some  answer  to  this,  but  her  breath, 
betwixt  fear  and  the  speed  with  which  she  was  transported,  refused  to  permit 
her  to  use  intelligible  accents.  Meantime  she  began  to  be  sensible  that 
she  was  enclosed  within  some  building,  and  probably  a  ruinous  one  —  for 
although  the  mode  of  her  transportation  no  longer  permitted  her  to  ascertain 
the  nature  of  her  path  in  any  respect  distinctly,  yet  the  absence  of  the 
external  air — which  was,  however,  sometimes  excluded,  and  sometimes  ad¬ 
mitted  in  furious  gusts — intimated  that  she  was  conducted  through  buildings 
partly  entire,  and  in  other  places  admitting  the  wind  through  wide  rents 
and  gaps.  In  one  place  it  seemed  to  the  lady  as  if  she  passed  through  a 
considerable  body  of  people,  all  of  whom  observed  silence,  although  there 
was  sometimes  heard  among  them  a  murmur,  to  which  every  one  present 
in  some  degree  contributed,  although  the  general  sound  did  not  exceed  a 
whisper.  Her  situation  made  her  attend  to  every  circumstance,  and  she  did 
not  fail  to  observe  that  these  persons  made  way  for  him  who  bore  her,  until 
at  length  she  became  sensible  that  he  descended  by  the  regular  steps  of  a 
stair,  and  that  she  was  now  alone  excepting  his  company.  Arrived,  as  it 
appeared  to  the  lady,  on  more  level  ground,  they  proceeded  on  their  singular 
road  by  a  course  which  appeared  neither  direct  nor  easy,  and  through  an 
atmosphere  which  was  close  to  a  smothering  degree,  and  felt  at  the  same 
time  damp  and  disagreeable,  as  if  from  the  vapours  of  a  new-made  grave. 
Her  guide  again  spoke. 

“Bear  up.  Lady  Augusta,  for  a  little  longer,  and  continue  to  endure  that 
atmosphere  which  must  be  one  day  common  to  us  all.  By  the  necessity  of 
my  situation,  I  must  resign  my  present  office  to  your  original  guide,  and  can 
only  give  3'ou  m3'  assurance,  that  neither  he,  nor  any  one  else,  shall  offer 
3  0U  the  least  incivility  or  insult — and  on  this  you  may  rely,  on  the  faith  of 
a  man  of  honour.” 

He  placed  her,  as  he  said  these  words,  upon  the  soft  turf,  and,  to  her 
infinite  refreshment,  made  her  sensible  that  she  was  once  more  in  the  open 
air,  and  free  from  the  smothering  atmosphere  which  had  before  oppressed 
her  like  that  of  a  charnel-house.  At  the  same  time,  she  breathed  in  a 


358 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


whisper  an  anxious  wish  that  she  might  he  permitted  to  disencumber 
herself  from  the  folds  of  the  mantle  which  excluded  almost  the  power  of 
breathing,  though  intended  only  to  prevent  her  seeing  by  what  road  she 
travelled.  She  immediately  found  it  unfolded,  agreeably  to  her  request, 
and  hastened,  with  uncovered  eyes,  to  take  note  of  the  scene  around  her. 

It  was  overshadowed  by  thick  oak  trees,  among  which  stood  some  rem¬ 
nants  of  buildings,  or  what  might  have  seemed  such,  being  perhaps  the 
same  in  which  she  had  been  lately  wandering.  A  clear  fountain  of  living 
water  bubbled  forth  from  under  the  twisted  roots  of  one  of  those  trees,  and 
olfered  the  lady  the  opportunity  of  a  draught  of  the  pure  element,  and  in 
w'hich  she  also  bathed  her  face,  which  had  received  more  than  one  scratch 
in  the  course  of  her  journey,  in  spite  of  the  care,  and  almost  the  tenderness, 
with  which  she  had  latterly  been  borne  along.  The  cool  water  speedily 
stopt  the  bleeding  of  those  trifling  injuries,  and  the  application  served  at 
the  same  time  to  recall. the  scattered  senses  of  the  damsel  herself.  Her 
first  idea  was,  whether  an  attempt  to  escape,  if  such  should  appear  possi¬ 
ble,  was  not  advisable.  A  moment’s  reflection,  however,  satisfied  her  that 
such  a  scheme  was  not  to  be  thought  of :  and  such  second  thoughts  were 
confirmed  by  the  approach  of  the  gigantic  form  of  the- huntsman  Turnbull, 
the  rough  tones  of  whose  voice  were  heard  before  his  figure  was  obvious  to 
her  eye. 

“  Were  you  impatient  for  my  return,  fair  lady?  Such  as  I,”  he  continued 
in  an  ironical  tone  of  voice,  “  who  are  foremost  in  the  chase  of  wild  stags 
and  silvan  cattle,  are  not  in  use  »to  lag  behind,  when  fair  ladies,  like  you, 
are  the  objects  of  pursuit;  and  if  I  am  not  so  constant  in  my  attendance  as 
you  might  expect,  believe  me,  it  is  because  I  was  engaged  in  another  matter, 
to  wdiich  I  must  sacrifice  for  a  little  even  the  duty  of  attending  on  you.” 

“I  offer  no  resistance,”  said  the  lady;  “forbear,  however,  in  discharging 
thy  duty,  to  augment  my  uneasiness  by  thy  conversation,  for  thy  master 
hath  pledged  me  his  word  that  he  will  not  suffer  me  to  be  alarmed  or  ill 
treated.” 

“  Nay,  fair  one,”  replied  the  huntsman,  “  I  ever  thought  it  was  fit  to  make 
interest  by  soft  words  with  fair  ladies  ;  but  if  you  like  it  not,  I  have  no  such 
pleasure  in  hunting  for  fine  holyday  terms,  but  that  I  can  with  equal  ease 
hold  myself  silent.  Come,  then,  since  we  must  wait  upon  this  lover  of  yours 
ere  morning  closes,  and  learn  his  last  resolution  touching  a  matter  which  is 
become  so  strangely  complicated,  I  will  hold  no  more  intercourse  with  you 
as  a  female,  but  talk  to  you  as  a  person  of  sense,  although  an  Englishwo¬ 
man.” 

“  You  will,”  replied  the  lady,  “  best  fulfil  the  intentions  of  those  by  whose 
orders  you  act,  by  holding  no  society  with  me  whatever,  otherwise  than  is 
necessary  in  the  character  of  guide.” 

The  man  lowered  his  brows,  yet  seemed  to  assent  to  what  the  Lady  of 
Berkely  proposed,  and  remained  silent  as  they  for  some  time  pursued  their 
course,  each  pondering  over  their  own  share  of  meditation,  which  probably 
turned  upon  matters  essentially  different.  At  length  the  loud  blast  of  a 
bugle  was  heard  at  no  great  distance  from  the  unsocial  fellow-travellers. 
“  That  is  the  person  we  seek,”  said  Turnbull ;  “  I  know  his  blast  from  any 
other  who  frequents  this  forest,  and  my  orders  are  to  bring  you  to  speech 
of  him.” 

The  blood  darted  rapidly  through  the  lady’s  veins  at  the  thought  of  being 
thus  unceremoniously  presented  to  the  knight,  in  whose  favour  she  had  con¬ 
fessed  a  rash  preference  more  agreeable  to  the  manners  of  those  times,  when 
exaggerated  sentiments  often  inspired  actions  of  extravagant  generosity,  than 
in  our  days,  when  every  thing  is  accounted  absurd  which  does  not  turn  upon 
a  motive  connected  with  the  immediate  selfish  interests  of  the  actor  himself. 
When  Turnbull,  therefore,  winded  his  horn,  as  if  in  answer  to  the  blast 
which  they  had  heard,  the  lady  was  disposed  to  fly  at  the  first  impulse  of 


V 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS.  359 

shame  and  of  fear.  Turnbull  perceived  her  intention,  and  caught  hold  of 
her  with  no  very  gentle  grasp,  saying  —  “  hJay,  lady,  it  is  to  be  understood 
that  you  play  your  own  part  in  the  drama,  which,  unless  you  continue  on 
the  stage,  will  conclude  unsatisfactorily  to  us  all,  in  a  combat  at  outrance 
between  your  lover  and  me,  when  it  will  appear  which  of  us  is  most  worthy 
of  your  favour/^ 

“  I  will  be  patient,”  said  the  lady,  bethinking  her  that  even  this  strange 
man^s  presence,  and  the  compulsion  which  he  appeared  to  use  towards  her, 
was  a  sort  of  excuse  to  her  female  scruples,  for  coming  into  the  presence  of 
her  lover,  at  least  at  her  first  appearance  before  him,  in  a  disguise  which 
her  feelings  confessed  was  not  extremely  decorous,  or  reconcilable  to  the 
dignity  of  her  sex. 

The  moment  after  these  thoughts  had  passed  through  her  mind,  the  tramp 
of  a  horse  was  heard  approaching  ;  and  Sir  John  de  Walton,  pressing 
through  the  trees,  became  aware  of  the  presence  of  his  lady,  captive,  as  it 
seemed,  in  the  grasp  of  a  Scottish  outlaw,  who  was  only  known  to  him  by 
his  former  audacity  at  the  hunting-match. 

Ilis  surprise  and  joy  only  supplied  the  knight  with  those  hasty  expres¬ 
sions —  “Caitiff,  let  go  thy  hold  I  or  die  in  thy  profane  attempt  to  conti'ol 
the  motions  of  one  whom  the  very  sun  in  heaven  should  be  proud  to  obey.” 
At  the  same  time,  apprehensive  that  the  huntsman  might  hurry  the  lady 
from  his  sight  by  means  of  some  entangled  path  —  such  as  upon  a  former 
occasion  had  served  him  for  escape  Sir  John  de  Walton  dropt  his  cumbrous 
lance,  of  which  the  trees  did  not  permit  him  the  perfect  use,  and  springing 
from  his  horse,  approached  Turnbull  with  his  drawn  sword. 

The  Scotchman,  keeping  his  left  hand  still  upon  the  lady’s  mantle, 
uplifted  with  his  right  his  battle-axe,  or  Jedwood  staff,  for  the  purpose  of 
parrying  and  returning  the  blow  of  his  antagonist,  but  the  lady  spoke. 

“  Sir  John  de  AValton,”  she  said,  “for  heaven’s  sake,  forbear  all  violence, 
till  you  hear  upon  what  pacific  object  I  am  brought  hither,  and  by  what 
peaceful  means  these  wars  may  be  put  an  end  to.  This  man,  though  an 
enemy  of  yours,  has  been  to  me  a  civil  and  respectful  guardian  ;  and  I 
entreat  you  to  forbear  him  while  he  speaks  the  purpose  for  which  he  has 
brought  me  hither.” 

“  To  speak  of  compulsion  and  the  Lady  de  Berkely  in  the  same  breath, 
would  itself  be  cause  enough  for  instant  death,”  said  the  Governor  of 
Douglas  Castle ;  “  but  you  command,  lady,  and  I  spare  his  insignificant  life, 
although  I  have  causes  of  complaint  against  him,  the  least  of  which  were 
good  warrant,  had  he  a  thousand  lives,  for  the  forfeiture  of  them  all.” 

“John  de  AValton,”  replied  Turnbull,  “this  lady  Avell  knows  that  no  fear 
of  thee  operates  in  my  mind  to  render  this  a  peaceful  meeting ;  and  were  I 
not  withheld  by  other  circumstances  of  great  consideration  to  the  Douglas 
as  well  as  thyself,  I  should  have  no  more  fear  in  facing  the  utmost  thou 
couldst  do,  than  I  have  now  in  levelling  that  sapling  to  the  earth  it  grows 
upon.” 

So  saying,  Michael  Turnbull  raised  his  battle-axe,  and  struck  from  a 
neighbouring  oak-tree  a  branch,  wellnigh  as  thick  as  a  mail’s  arm,  which 
(with  all  its  Dvigs  and  leaves)  rushed  to  the  ground  between  De  Walton  and 
the  Scotchman,  giving  a  singular  instance  of  the  keenness  of  his  weapon, 
and  the  strength  and  dexterity  with  which  he  used  it. 

“  Let  there  be  truce,  then,  between  us,  good  fellow,”  said  Sir  John  do 
Walton,  “since  it  is  the  lady’s  pleasure  that  such  should  be  the  case,  and 
let  me  know  what  thou  hast  to  say  to  me  respecting  her?” 

“On  that  subject,”  said  Turnbull,  “my  words  are  few,  but  mark  them. 
Sir  Englishman.  The  Lady  Augusta  Berkely,  wandering  in  this  country, 
has  become  a  prisoner  of  the  noble  Lord  Douglas,  the  rightful  inheritor  of 
the  Castle  and  lordship,  and  he  finds  himself  obliged  to  attach  to  the  liberty 
of  this  lady  the  following  conditions,  being  in  all  respects  such  as  good  and 


860 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


V 


lawful  warfare  entitles  a  knight  to  exact.  That  is  to  say,  in  all  honour  and 
safety  the  Lady  Augusta  shall  be  delivered  to  Sir  John  de  Walton,  or  those 
whom  he  shall  name,  for  the  purpose  of  receiving  her.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  Castle  of  Douglas  itself,  together  with  all  out-posts  or  garrisons  there¬ 
unto  belonging,  shall  be  made  over  and  surrendered  by  Sir  John  do  Walton, 
in  the  same  situation,  and  containing  the  same  provisions  and  artillery,  as 
are  now  within  their  walls ;  and  the  space  of  a  month  of  truce  shall  be  per¬ 
mitted  to  Sir  James  Douglas  and  Sir  John  de  Walton  farther  to  regulate  the 
terms  of  surrender  on  both  parts,  having  first  plighted  their  knightly  word 
and  oath,  that  in  the  exchange  of  the  honourable  lady  for  the  foresaid  castle, 
lies  the  full  import  of  the  present  agreement,  and  that  every  other  subject 
of  dispute  shall,  at  the  pleasure  of  the  noble  knights  foresaid,  be  honourably 
compounded  and  agreed  betwixt  them  ;  or  at  their  pleasure,  settled  knightly 
by  single  coirtbat  according  to  usage,  and  in  a  fair  field,  before  any  honour¬ 
able  person,  that  may  possess  power  enough  to  preside.'^ 

It  is  not  easy  to  conceive  the  astonishment  of  Sir  John  de  Walton  at 
hearing  the  contents  of  this  extraordinary  cartel ;  he  looked  towards  the 
Lady  of  Berkely  with  that  aspect  of  despair  with  which  a  criminal  may  be 
supposed  to  see  his  guardian  angel  prepare  for  departure.  Through  her 
mind  also  similar  ideas  flowed,  as  if  they  contained  a  concession  of  what 
she  had  considered  as  the  summit  of  her  wishes,  but  under  conditions 
disgraceful  to  her  lover,  like  the  cherub’s  fiery  sword  of  yore,  which  was  a 
barrier  between  our  first  parents  and  the  blessings  of  Paradise.  Sir  John 
de  Walton,  after  a  moment’s  hesitation,  broke  silence  in  these  words:  — 

“  Noble  lady,  you  may  be  surprised  if  a  condition  be  imposed  upon  me, 
having  for  its  object  your  freedom;  and  if  Sir  John  de  Walton,  already 
standing  under  those  obligations  to  you,  which  he  is  proud  of  acknow¬ 
ledging,  should  yet  hesitate  on  accepting,  with  the  utmost  eagerness,  what 
must  ensure  your  restoration  to  freedom  and  independence ;  but  so  it  is, 
that  the  words  now  spoken  have  thrilled  in  mine  ear  without  reaching  to 
my  understanding,  and  I  must  pray  the  Lady  of  Berkely  for  pardon  if  I 
take  time  to  reconsider  them  for  a  short  space.” 

“And  I,”  replied  Turnbull,  “  have  only  power  to  allow  you  half  an  hour 
for  the  consideration  of  an  offer,  in  accepting  which,  methinks,  you  should 
jump  shoulder-height  instead  of  asking  any  time  for  reflection.  What  does 
this  cartel  exact,  save  what  your  duty  as  a  knight  implicitly  obliges  you  to? 
You  have  engaged  yourself  to  become  the  agent  of  the  tyrant  Edward,  in 
holding  Douglas  Castle,  as  his  commander,  to  the  prejudice  of  the  Scottish 
nation,  and  of  the  Knight  of  Douglas  Dale,  who  never,  as  a  community  or 
as  an  individual,  were  guilty  of  the  least  injury  towards  you  ;  you  are  there¬ 
fore  prosecuting  a  false  path,  unworthy  of  a  good  knight.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  freedom  and  safety  of  your  lady  is  now  proposed  to  be  pledged  to 
you,  with  a  full  assurance  of  her  liberty  and  honour,  on  consideration  of 
your  withdrawing  from  the  unjust  line  of  conduct,  in  which  you  have  suf¬ 
fered  yourself  to  be  imprudently  engaged.  If  you  persevere  in  it,  you  place 
your  own  honour,  and  the  lady’s  happiness,  in  the  hands  of  men  whom  you 
have  done  everything  in  your  power  to  render  desperate,  and  whom,  thus 
irritated,  it  is  most  probable  you  may  find  such.” 

“  It  is  not  from  thee  at  least,”  said  the  knight,  “  that  I  shall  learn  to  esti¬ 
mate  the  manner  in  which  Douglas  will  explain  the  laws  of  war,  or  De 
Walton  receive  them  at  his  dictating.” 

“I  am  not,  then,”  said  Turnbull,  “received  as  a  friendly  messenger? 
Farewell,  and  think  of  this  lady  as<being  in  any  hands  but  those  which  are 
safe,  while  you  make  up  at  leisure  your  mind  upon  the  message  I  have 
brought  you.  Come,  madam,  we  must  be  gone.” 

So  saying,  he  seized  upon  the  lady’s  hand,  and  pulled  her,  as  if  to  force 
her  to  withdraw.  The  lady  had  stood  motionless,  and  almost  senseless, 
\vhile  these  speeches  were  exchanged  between  the  warriors ;  but  when  she 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS.  3(31 

felt  the  grasp  of  Michael  Turnbull,  she  exclaimed,  like  one  almost  beside 
herself  with  fear  —  “  Help  me,  He  Walton  !” 

The  knight,  stung  to  instant  rage,  assaulted  the  forester  with  the  utmost 
fury,  and  dealt  him  with  his  long  sword,  almost  at  unawares,*  two  or  three 
heavy  blows,  by  which  he  was  so  wounded  that  he  sunk  backvs'ards  in  the 
thicket,  and  De  Walton  was  about  to  despatch  him,  when  he  was  prevented 
by  the  anxious  cry  of  the  lady  —  “Alas!  De  Walton,  wdiat  have  you  done? 
This  man  was  only  an  ambassador,  and  should  have  passed  free  from  injury, 
while  he  confined  himself  to  the  delivery  of  what  he  was  charged  with  ;  and 
if  thou  hast  slain  him,  who  knows  how  frightful  may  prove  the  vengeance 
exacted  1’^ 

The  voice  of  the  lady  seemed  to  recover  the  huntsman  from  the  efiects 
of  the  blows  he  had  received:  he  sprung  on  his  feet,  saying — “Never  mind 
me,  nor  think  of  my  becoming  the  means  of  making  mischief.  The  knight, 
in  his  haste,  spoke  without  giving  me  warning  and  defiance,  which  gave 
him  an  advantage  which,  I  think,  he  would  otherwise  have  scorned  to  have 
taken  in  such  a  case.  I  will  renew  tho  combat  on  fairer  terms,  or  call 
another  champion,  as  the  knight  pleases.’^  With  these  words  he  disap¬ 
peared. 

“Fear  not,  empress  of  De  AValton’s  thoughts,’^  answered  the  knight, 
“but  believe,  that  if  we  regain  together  tho  shelter  of  Douglas  Castle,  and 
the  safeguard  of  Saint  George’s  Cross,  thou  may’st  laugh  at  all.  And  if 
you  can  but  pardon,  what  I  shall  never  bo  able  to  forgive  myself,  the  mole¬ 
like  blindness  which  did  not  recognise  the  sun  while  under  a  temporary 
eclipse,  the  task  cannot  be  named  too  hard  for  mortal  valour  to  achieve 
which  I  shall  not  willingly  undertake,  to  wipe  out  the  memory  of  my 
grievous  fault.” 

“  Mention  it  no  more,”  said  the  lady  ;  “  it  is  not  at  such  a  time  as  this, 
when  our  lives  are  for  the  moment  at  stake,  that  quarrels  upon  slighter 
topics  are  to  be  recurred  to.  I  can  tell  you,  if  you  do  not  yet  know,  that 
the  Scots  are  in  arms  in  this  vicinity,  and  that  even  the  earth  has  yawned 
to  conceal  them  from  the  sight  of  your  garrison.” 

“  Let  it  yawn,  then,”  said  Sir  John  de  Walton,  “  and  suffer  every  fiend  in 
the  infernal  abyss  to  escape  from  his  prison-house  and  reinforce  our  ene¬ 
mies —  still,  fairest,  having  received  in  thee  a  pearl  of  matchless  price,  my 
spurs  shall  be  hacked  from  my  heels  by  the  basest  scullion,  if  I  turn  my 
horse’s  head  to  the  rear  before  the  utmost  force  these  ruffians  can  assemble, 
either  upon  earth  or  from  underneath  it.  In  thy  name  I  defy  them  all  to 
instant  combat.” 

As  Sir  John  de  Walton  pronounced  these  last  words,  in  something  of  an 
exalted  tone,  a  tall  cavalier,  arrayed  in  black  armour  of  the  simplest  form, 
stepped  forth  from  that  part  of  the  thicket  where  Turnbull  had  disappeared. 
“I  am,”  he  said,  “James  of  Douglas,  and  your  challenge  is  accepted.  1, 
the  challenged,  name  the  arms  our  knightly  weapons  as  we  now  wear  them, 
and  our  place  of  combat  this  field  or  dingle,  called  the  Bloody  Sykes,  the 
time  being  instant,  and  the  combatants,  like  true  knights,  foregoing  each 
advantage  on  either  side.”  * 

“  So  be  it,  in  God’s  name,”  said  the  English  knight,  who,  though  sur¬ 
prised  at  being  called  upon  to  so  sudden  an  encounter  with  so  formidable  a 
warrior  as  young  Douglas,  was  too  proud  to  dream  of  avoiding  the  combat. 
Making  a  sign  to  the  lady  to  retire  behind  him,  that  he  might  not  lose  the 
advantage  which  he  had  gained  by  setting  her  at  liberty  from  the  forester, 
he  drew  his  sword,  and  with  a  deliberate  and  prepared  attitude  of  offence, 
moved  slowly  to  the  encounter.  It  was  a  dreadful  one,  for  the  courage  and 


*  'I’he  ominous  name  of  Bloodmire-sink  or  Syke,  marks  a  narrow  hollow  to  the  north-west  of  Douglas 
Castle,  from  which  it  is  distant  about  the  third  of  a  mile.  Mr.  Haddow  states,  that  according  to  local  tra¬ 
dition.  the  name  was  given  in  consequence  of  Sir  James  Douglas  having  at  this  spot  intercepted  and  slam 
part  of  I  lie  garrison  of  the  castle,  while  De  Walton  was  in  command. 


O 


V 


362 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


skill  both  of  the  native  Lord  of  Douglas  Dale,  and  of  De  Walton,  were 
among  the  most  renowned  of  the  times,  and  perhaps  the  world  of  chivalry 
could  hardly  have  produced  two  knights  more  famous.  Their  blows  fell  as 
if  urged  by  some  mighty  engine,  where  they  were  met  and  parried  with 
equal  strength  and  dexterity ;  nor  seemed  it  likely,  in  the  course  of  ten 
minutes’  encounter,  that  an  advantage  would  be  gained  by  either  combatant 
over  the  other.  An  instant  they  stopped  by  mutually  implied  assent,  as  it 
seemed,  for  the  purpose  of  taking  breath,  during  which  Douglas  said,  “  I 
beg  that  this  noble  lady  may  understand,  that  her  own  freedom  is  no  way 
concerned  in  the  present  contest,  which  entirely  regards  the  injustice  done 
by  this  Sir  John  de  Walton,  and  by  his  nation  of  England,  to  the  memory 
of  my  father,  and  to  my  own  natural  rights.” 

“You  are  generous.  Sir  Knight,”  replied  the  lady ;  “but  in  what  circum¬ 
stances  do  you  place  me,  if  you  deprive  me  of  my  protector  by  death  or 
captivity,  and  leave  me  alone  in  a  foreign  land  ?” 

“If  such  should  be  the  event  of  the  combat,”  replied  Sir  James,  “the 
Douglas  himself,  lady,  will  safely  restore  thee  to  thy  native  land ;  for  never 
did  his  sword  do  an  injury  for  which  he  was  not  willing  to  make  amends 
with  the  same  weapon ;  and  if  Sir  John  de  Walton  will  make  the  slightest 
admission  that  he  renounces  maintaining  the  present  strife,  were  it  only  by 
yielding  up  a  feather  from  the  plume  of  his  helmet,  Douglas  will  renounce 
every  purpose  on  his  part  which  can  touch  the  lady’s  honour  or  safety,  and 
the  combat  may  be  suspended  until  the  national  quarrel  again  brings  us 
together.” 

Sir  John  de  Walton  pondered  a  moment,  and  the  lady,  although  she  did 
not  speak,  looked  at  him  with  eyes  which  plainly  expressed  how  much  she 
wished  that  he  would  choose  the  less  hazardous  alternative.  But  the 
knight’s  own  scruples  prevented  his  bringing  the  case  to  so  favourable  an 
arbitrement. 

“Never  shall  it  be  said  of  Sir  John  de  Walton,”  he  replied,  “that  he 
compromised,  in  the  slightest  degree,  his  own  honour,  or  that  of  his  country. 
This  battle  may  end  in  my  defeat,  or  rather  death,  and  in  that  case  my 
earthly  prospects  are  closed,  and  I  resign  to  Douglas,  with  my  last  breath, 
the  charge  of  the  Lady  Augusta,  trusting  that  he  will  defend  her  with  his 
life,  and  find  the  means  of  replacing  her  with  safety  in  the  halls  of  her 
fathers.  But  while  I  survive,  she  may  have  a  better,  but  will  not  need 
another  protector  than  he  who  is  honoured  by  being  her  own  choice ;  nor 
will  I  yield  up,  were  it  a  plume  from  my  helmet,  implying  that  I  have 
maintained  an  unjust  quarrel,  either  in  the  cause  of  England,  or  of  the 
fairest  of  her  daughters.  Thus  fiir  alone  I  will  concede  to  Douglas  —  an 
instant  truce,  provided  the  lady  shall  not  be  interrupted  in  her  retreat  to 
England,  and  the  combat  be  fought  out  upon  another  day.  The  castle  and 
territory  of  Douglas  is  the  property  of  Edward  of  England,  the  governor  in 
his  name  is  the  rightful  governor,  and  on  this  point  I  will  fight  while  my 
eyelids  are  unclosed.” 

“  Time  flies,”  said  Douglas,  “  without  waiting  for  our  resolves ;  nor  is 
there  any  part  of  his  motions  of  such  value  as  that  which  is  passing  with 
every  breath  of  vital  air  which  we  presently  draw.  Why  should  we  adjourn 
till  to-morrow  that  which  can  be  as  well  finished  to-day  ?  Will  our  swords 
be  sharper,  or  our  arms  stronger  to  wield  them,  than  they  are  at  this 
moment?  Douglas  will  do  all  which  knight  can  do  to  succour  a  lady  in 
distress  ;  but  he  will  not  grant  to  her  knight  the  slightest  mark  of  deference, 
which  Sir  John  de  Walton  vainly  supposes  himself  able  to  extort  by  force 
of  arms.” 

With  these  words,  the  knights  engaged  once  more  in  mortal  combat,  and 
the  lady  felt  uncertain  whether  she  should  attempt  her  escape  through  the 
devious  paths  of  the  wood,  or  abide  the  issue  of  this  obstinate  fight.  It 
was  rather  her  desire  to  see  the  fate  of  Sir  John  de  Walton,  than  any  other 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


363 


consideration,  -wliich  induced  her  to  remain,  as  if  fascinated,  upon  the  spot, 
where  one  of  the  fiercest  quarrels  ever  fouj^ht  was  disputed  by  two  of  the 
bravest  champions  that  ever  drew  sword.  At  last  the  lady  attempted  to  put 
a  stop  to  the  combat,  by  appealing  to  the  bells  which  began  to  ring  for  the 
service  of  the  day,  which  was  Palm  Sunday. 

“For  Heaven’s  sake,”  she  said — “for  your  own  sakes,  and  for  that  of 
lady’s  love,  and  the  duties  of  chivalry,  hold  your  hands  only  for  an  hour, 
and  take  chance,  that  where  strength  is  so  equal,  means  will  be  found  of 
converting  the  truce  into  a  solid  peace.  Think  this  is  Palm  Sunday,  and 
will  you  defile  with  blood  such  a  peculiar  festival  of  Christianity  !  Intermit 
your  feud  at  least  so  far  as  to  pass  to  the  nearest  church,  bearing  with  you  ' 
branches,  not  in  the  ostentatious  mode  of  earthly  conquerors,  but  as  render¬ 
ing  due  homage  to  the  rules  of  the  blessed  Church,  and  the  institutions  of 
our  holy  religion.” 

“  I  was  on  my  road,  fair  lady,  for  that  purpose,  to  the  holy  church  of 
Douglas,”  said  the  Englishman,  “  when  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  meet  you 
at  this  place ;  nor  do  I  object  to  proceed  thither  even  now,  holding  truce  for 
an  hour,  and  I  fear  not  to  find  there  friends  to  whom  I  can  commit  you  with 
assurance  of  safety,  in  case  I  am  unfortunate  in  the  combat  which  is  now 
broken  off,  to  be  resumed  after  the  service  of  the  day.” 

“  I  also  assent,”  said  the  Douglas,  “  to  a  truce  for  such  short  space  ;  nor 
do  I  fear  that  there  may  be  good  Christians  enough  at  the  church,  who  will 
not  see  their  master  overpowered  by  odds.  Let  us  go  thither,  and  each  take 
the  chance  of  what  Heaven  shall  please  to  send  us.” 

From  these  words  Sir  John  de  Walton  little  doubted  that  Douglas  had 
assured  himself  of  a  party  among  those  who  should  there  assemble ;  but  he 
doubted  not  of  so  many  of  the  garrison  being  present  as  would  bridle  every 
attempt  at  rising ;  and  the  risk,  he  thought,  was  worth  incurring,  since  ho 
should  thereby  secure  an  opportunity  to  place  Lady  Augusta  de  Berkely  in 
safety,  at  least  so  far  as  to  make  her  liberty  depend  on  the  event  of  a  general 
conflict,  instead  of  the  precarious  issue  of  a  combat  between  himself  and 
Douglas. 

Both  these  distinguished  knights  were  inwardly  of  opinion,  that  the  pro¬ 
posal  of  the  lady,  though  it  relieved  them  from  their  present  conflict,  by  no 
means  bound  them  to  abstain*  from  the  consequences  which  an  accession  of 
force  might  add  to  their  general  strength,  and  each  relied  upon  his  supe¬ 
riority,  in  some  degree  provided  for  by  their  previous  proceedings.  Sir 
John  de  Walton  made  almost  certain  of  meeting  with  several  of  his  bands 
of  soldiers,  who  were  scouring  the  country  and  traversing  the  woods  by  his 
direction ;  and  Douglas,  it  may  be  supposed,  had  not  ventured  himself  in 
person,  where  a  price  was  set  upon  his  head,  without  being  attended  by  a 
sufficient  number  of  approved  adherents,  placed  in  more  or  less  connexion 
with  each  other,  and  stationed  for  mutual  support.  Each,  therefore,  enter¬ 
tained  well-grounded  hopes,  that  by  adopting  the  truce  proposed,  he  would 
ensure  himself  an  advantage  over  his  antagonist,  although  neither  exactly 
knew  in  what  manner  or  to  Avhat  extent  this  success  was  to  be  obtained. 


364 


WAVE  K  LEY  NOVELS. 


(C|lE|itBr  tji:e  figljtBnttli. 

His  talk  was  of  another  world  —  his  bodiments 
Strange,  doubtful,  and  mysterious;  those  who  heard  him 
Listen’d  as  to  a  man  in  feverish  dreams, 

Who  speaks  of  other  objects  than  the  present, 

And  mutters  like  to  him  who  sees  a  vision. 

Old  Plat. 

On  the  same  Palm  Sunday  when  De  Walton  and  Douglas  measured  to¬ 
gether  their  mighty  swords,  the  minstrel  Bertram  was  busied  with  the 
ancient  Book  of  Prophecies,  which  we  have  already  mentioned  as  the  sup¬ 
posed  composition  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  but  not  without  many  anxieties 
as  to  the  fate  of  his  lady,  and  the  events  which  were  passing  around  him. 
As  a  minstrel  he  was  desirous  of  an  auditor  to  enter  into  the  discoveries 
which  he  should  make  in  that  mystic  volume,  as  well  as  to  assist  in  passing 
away  the  time;  Sir  John  de  Walton  had  furnished  him,  in  Gilbert  Green- 
leaf  the  archer,  with  one  who  was  well  contented  to  play  the  listener 
“  from  morn  to  dewy  eve,’^  provided  a  flask  of  Gascon  wine,  or  a  stoup  of 
good  English  ale,  remained  on  the  board.  It  may  be  remembered  that  De 
Walton,  when  he  dismissed  the  minstrel  from  the  dungeon,  was  sensible 
that  he  owed  him  some  compensation  for  the  causeless  suspicion  which  had 
dictated  his  imprisonment,  more  particularly  as  he  was  a  valued  servant, 
and  had  shown  himself  the  faithful  confidant  of  the  Lady  Augusta  de 
Berkely,  and  the  person  who  was  moreover  likely  to  know  all  the  motives 
and  circumstances  of  her  Scottish  journey.  To  secure  his  good  wishes 
was,  therefore,  politic ;  and  De  Walton  had  intimated  to  his  faithful  archer 
that  he  was  to  lay  aside  all  suspicion  of  Bertram,  but  at  the  same  time  keep 
him  in  sight,  and,  if  possible,  in  good  humour  with  the  governor  of  the 
castle,  and  his  adherents.  Greenleaf  accordingly  had  no  doubt  in  his  own 
mind,  that  the  only  way  to  please  a  minstrel  was  to  listen  with  patience 
and  commendation  to  the  lays  which  he  liked  best  to  sing,  or  the  tales 
which  he  most  loved  to  tell ;  and  in  order  to  ensure  the  execution  of  his 
master's  commands,  he  judged  it  necessary  to  demand  of  the  butler  such 
store  of  good  liquor,  as  could  not  fail  to  enhance  the  pleasure  of  his  society. 

Having  thus  fortified  himself  with  the  means  of  bearing  a  long  interview 
with  the  minstrel,  Gilbert  Greenleaf  proposed  to  confer  upon  him  the  bounty 
of  an  early  breakfast,  which,  if  it  pleased  him,  they  might  wash  down  with 
a  cup  of  sack,  and,  having  his  master’s  commands  to  show  the  minstrel  any 
thing  about  the  castle  which  he  might  wish  to  see,  refresh  their  overwearied 
spirits  by  attending  a  part  of  the  garrison  of  Douglas  to  the  service  of  the 
day,  which,  as  we  have  already  seen,  was  of  peculiar  sanctity.  Against 
such  a  proposal  the  minstrel,  a  good  Christian  by  profession,  and,  by  his 
connexion  with  the  joyous  science,  a  good  fellow,  having  no  objections  to 
offer,  the  two  comrades,  who  had  formerly  little  good-will  towards  each 
other,  commenced  their  morning’s  repast  on  that  fated  Palm  Sunday,  with 
all  manner  of  cordiality  and  good  fellowship. 

“  Do  not  believe,  worthy  minstrel,”  said  the  archer,  “  that  my  master  in 
any  respect  disparages  your  worth  or  rank  in  referring  you  for  company  or 
conversation  to  so  poor  a  man  as  myself.  It  is  true  I  am  no  officer  of  this 
garrison  ;  yet  for  an  old  archer,  who,  for  these  thirty  years,  has  lived  by 
bow  and  bowstring,  I  do  not  (Our  Lady  make  me  thankful!)  hold  less 
share  in  the  grace  of  Sir  John  de  W’alton,  the  Earl  of  Pembroke,  and  other 
approved  good  soldiers,  than  many  of  those  giddy  young  men  on  whom  com¬ 
missions  are  conferred,  and  to  whom  confidences  are  intrusted,  not  on  ac¬ 
count  of  what  they  have  done,  but  what^  their  ancestors  have  done  boiore 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


365 


them.  I  pray  you  to  notice  among  them  one  youth  placed  at  our  head  in 
De  Walton's  absence,  and  who  bears  the  honoured  name  of  Aymer  do  Va¬ 
lence,  being  the  same  with  that  of  the  Earl  of  Pembroke,  of  whom  I  havo 
spoken  ;  this  knight  has  also  a  brisk  young  page,  whom  men  call  Fabian 
llarbothel." 

“  Is  it  to  these  gentlemen  that  your  censure  applies?"  answered  the  min¬ 
strel;  “  I  should  have  judged  differently,  having  never,  in  the  course  of  my 
experience,  seen  a  young  man  more  courteous  and  amiable  than  the  young 
knight  you  named." 

“  I  nothing  dispute  that  it  may  be  so,"  said  the  archer,  hastening  to 
amend  the  false  step  which  he  had  made ;  “  but  in  order  that  it  should  be 
so,  it  will  be  necessary  that  he  conform  to  the  usages  of  his  uncle,  taking 
the  advice  of  experienced  old  soldiers  in  the  emergencies  which  may  present 
themselves ;  and  not  believing,  that  the  knowledge  which  it  takes  many 
years  of  observation  to  acquire,  can  be  at  once  conferred  by  the  slap  of  the 
flat  of  a  sword,  and  the  magic  words,  ‘Rise  up.  Sir  Arthur' — or  however 
the  case  may  be." 

“  Doubt  not.  Sir  Archer,"  replied  Bertram,  “  that  I  am  fully  aware  of 
the  advantage  to  be  derived  from  conversing  with  men  of  experience  like 
you ;  it  benefiteth  men  of  every  persuasion,  and  I  myself  am  oft  reduced 
to  lament  my  want  of  sufficient  knowledge  of  armorial  bearings,  signs,  and 
cognizances,  and  would  right  fain  have  thy  assistance,  where  I  am  a 
stranger  alike  to  the  names  of  places,  of  persons,  and  description  of  banners 
and  emblems  by  which  great  families  are  distinguished  from  each  other,  so 
absolutely  necessary  to  the  accomplishment  of  my  present  task." 

•  “  Pennons  and  banners,"  answered  the  archer,  “  I  have  seen  right  many, 
and  can  assign,  as  is  a  soldier’s  wont,  the  name  of  the  leader  to  the  emblem 
under  which  he  musters  his  followers  ;  nevertheless,  worthy  minstrel,  I  can¬ 
not  presume  to  understand  what  you  call  prophecies,  with  or  under  war¬ 
ranted  authority  of  old  painted  books,  expositions  of  dreams,  oracles, 
revelations,  invocations  of  damned  spirits,  judicials,  astrologicals,  and  othe.r 
gross  and  palpable  offences,  whereby  men,  pretending  to  have  the  assistance 
of  the  devil,  do  impose  upon  the  common  people,  in  spite  of  the  warnings 
of  the  Privy  Council ;  not  however,  that  I  suspect  you,  worthy  minstrel,  of 
busying  yourself  with  these  attempts  to  explain  futurity,  which  are  danger¬ 
ous  attempts,  and  may  be  truly  said  to  be  penal,  and  part  of  treason." 

“There  is  something  in  what  you  say,"  replied  the  minstrel;  “yet  it 
applieth  not  to  books  and  manuscripts  such  as  I  have  been  consulting ; 
part  of  which  things  therein  written  having  already  come  to  pass,  authorize 
us  surely  to  expect  the  completion  of  the  rest ;  nor  would  I  have  much  diffi¬ 
culty  in  showing  you  from  this  volume,  that  enough  has  been  already  proved 
true,  to  entitle  us  to  look  with  certainty  to  the  accomplishment  of  that  which 
remains." 

“  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  that,"  answered  the  archer,  who  entertained 
little  more  than  a  soldier's  belief  respecting  prophecies  and  auguries,  but 
yet  cared  not  bluntly  to  contradict  the  minstrel  upon  such  subjects,  as  ho 
had  been  instructed  by  Sir  John  de  Walton  to  comply  with  his  humour. 
Accordingly  the  minstrel  began  to  recite  verses,  which,  in  our  time,  the 
ablest  interpreter  could  not  make  sense  out  of. 

“  When  the  cock  crows,  keep  well  his  comb, 

For  tlie  fox  and  the  fulmart  they  are  false  both. 

When  the  raven  and  the  rook  have  rounded  together, 

And  the  kid  in  his  cliff  shall  accord  to  the  same. 

Then  shall  they  be  bold,  and  soon  to  battle  Uiereafter. 

Then  the  birds  of  the  raven  rugs  and  reives, 

And  the  leal  men  of  Lotliian  are  loupma-  on  their  horse; 

Then  shall  the  poor  people  be  spoiled  full  near. 

And  the  Abbeys  be  burnt  truly  that  stand  upon  Tweed 
They  shall  burn  and  slay,  and  gieat  reif  make  ; 

There  shrill  no  poor  man  who  say  wliose  man  he  is : 

Then  shall  the  land  be  lawless,  for  love  there  is  none. 

I'hen  falset  shall  have  foot  fully  five  years ; 

2f2 


866 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


Then  truth  surely  shall  be  tint,  and  none  shall  lippen  to  other; 

The  one  cousing  shall  not  trust  the  other,  i 
Mot  the  son  the  father,  nor  the  father  the  son: 

For  to  have  his  goods  he  would  have  him  hanged.”  ' 

6tc.  &c.  <kc. 

The  archer  listened  to  these  mystic  prognostications,  which  were  not  the 
less  wearisome  that  they  were,  in  a  considerable  degree,  unintelligible ;  at 
the  same  time  subduing  his  Hotspur-like  disposition  to  tire  of  the  recitation, 
yet  at  brief  intervals  comforting  himself  with  an  application  to  the  wine 
flagon,  and  enduring  as  he  might  what  he  neither  understood  nor  took 
interest  in.  Meanwhile  the  minstrel  proceeded  with  his  explanation  of  the 
dubious  and  imperfect  vaticinations  of  w^hich  we  have  given  a  sufficient 
specimen. 

“  Could  you  wish,^^  said  he  to  Greenleaf,  “  a  more  exact  description  of  the 
miseries  which  have  passed  over  Scotland  in  these  latter  days  ?  Have  not 
these  the  raven  and  rook,  the  fox  and  the  fulmart,  explained;  either  because 
the  nature  of  the  birds  or  beasts  bear  an  individual  resemblance  to  those 
of  the  knights  who  display  them  on  their  banners,  or  otherwise  are  bodied 
forth  by  actual  blazonry  on  their  shields,  and  come  openly  into  the  field  to 
ravage  and  destroy  ?  Is  not  the  total  disunion  of  the  land  plainly  indicated 
by  these  words,  that  connexions  of  blood  shall  be  broken  asunder,  that  kins¬ 
men  shall  not  trust  each  other,  and  that  the  father  and  son,  instead  of  put¬ 
ting  faith  in  their  natural  connexion,  shall  seek  each  other^s  life,  in  order  to 
enjoy  his  inheritance  ?  The  leal  men  of  Lothian  are  distinctly  mentioned  as 
taking  arms,  and  there  is  plainly  allusion  to  the  other  events  of  these  late 
Scottish  troubles.  The  death  of  this  last  'William  is  obscurely  intimated 
under  the  type  of  a  hound,  which  was  that  good  lord’s  occasional  cogni¬ 
zance. 

The  hound  that  was  hairn  u  then  muzzled  shall  be, 

Who  loved  him  worst  shall  weep  for  his  wreck ; 

Yet  shall  .a  whelp  rise  of  the  same  race, 

I'hat  rudely  shall  roar,  and  rule  the  whole  north, 

And  quit  the  whole  quarrel  of  old  deeds  done, 

Thou^  he  from  his  hold  be  kept  back  awhile. 

True  Thomas  told  me  this  in  a  troublesome  time. 

In  a  harvest  morning  at  Eldoun  hills.’  ” 

“  This  hath  a  meaning.  Sir  Archer,^’  continued  the  minstrel,  and  which 
flies  as  directly  to  its  mark  as  one  of  your  own  arrows,  although  there  may 
be  some  want  of  wisdom  in  making  the  direct  explication.  Being,  however, 
upon  assurance  with  you,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  tell  you,  that  in  my  opinion 
this  lion’s  whelp  that  awaits  its  time,  means  this  same  celebrated  Scottish 
prince,  Robert  the  Bruce,  who,  though  repeatedly  defeated,  has  still,  while 
hunted  with  bloodhounds,  and  surrounded  by  enemies  of  every  sort,  main¬ 
tained  his  pretensions  to  the  crown  of  Scotland,  in  despite  of  King  Edward, 
now  reigning.” 

“  Minstrel,”  answered  the  soldier,  “  you  are  my  guest,  and  we  have  sat 
down  together  as  friends  to  this  simple  meal  in  good  comradeship.  I  must 
tell  thee,  however,  though  I  am  loath  to  disturb  our  harmony,  that  thou  art 
the  first  who  hast  adventured  to  speak  a  word  before  Gilbert  Greenleaf  in 
favour  of  that  outlawed  traitor,  Robert  Bruce,  who  has  by  his  seditions  so 
long  disturbed  the  peace  of  this  realm.  Take  my  advice,  and  be  silent  on 
this  topic ;  for,  believe  me,  the  sword  of  a  true  English  archer  will  spring 
from  its  scabbard  without  consent  of  its  master,  should  it  hear  aught  said 
to  the  disparagement  of  bonny  St.  George  and  his  ruddy  cross ;  nor  shall 
the  authority  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  or  any  other  prophet  in  Scotland, 
England,  or  Wales,  be  considered  as  an  apology  for  such  unbecoming  pre¬ 
dictions.” 

“I  were  loth  to  give  offence  at  any  time,”  said  the  minstrel,  “much  more 
to  provoke  you  to  anger,  when  I  am  in  the  very  act  of  experiencing  your 
hospitality.  I  trust,  however,  you  will  remember  that  I  do  not  come  your 
uninvited  guest,  and  that  if  I  speak  to  you  of  future  events,  I  do  so  without 
having  the  least  intention  to  add  my  endeavour  to  bring  them  to  pass ;  for. 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


3G7 


God  knows,  it  is  many  years  since  my  sincere  prayer  has  been  for  peace 
and  happiness  to  all  men,  and  particularly  honour  and  happiness  to  the 
land  of  Bowmen,  in  w’hich  I  was  born,  and  which  I  am  bound  to  remember 
in  my  prayers  beyond  all  other  nations  in  the  world.” 

“  It  is  well  that  you  do  so,”  said  the  archer ;  “  for  so  you  shall  best  main¬ 
tain  your  bounden  duty  to  the  fair  land  of  your  birth,  which  is  the  richest 
that  the  sun  shines  upon.  Something,  however,  I  w'ould  know,  if  it  suits 
with  your  pleasure  to  tell  me,  and  that  is,  whether  you  find  anything  in  these 
rude  rhymes  appearing  to  affect  the  safety  of  the  Castle  of  Douglas,  where 
we  now  are  ?  —  for,  mark  me,  Sir  Minstrel,  I  have  observed  that  these 
mouldering  parchments,  when  or  by  whomsoever  composed,  have  so  far  a 
certain  coincidence  with  the  truth,  that  when  such  predictions  which  they 
contain  are  spread  abroad  in  the  country,  and  create  rumours  of  plots,  con¬ 
spiracies,  and  bloody  w'ars,  they  are  very  apt  to  cause  the  very  mischances 
which  they  would  be  thought  only  to  predict.” 

“  It  were  not  very  cautious  in  me,”  said  the  minstrel,  “  to  choose  a  pro¬ 
phecy  for  my  theme,  which  had  reference  to  any  attack  on  this  garrison ; 
for  in  such  case  I  should,  according  to  your  ideas,  lay  myself  under  sus¬ 
picion  of  endeavouring  to  forward  what  no  person  could  more  heartily  regret 
than  myself.” 

“Take  my  word  for  it,  good  friend,”  said  the  archer,  “that  it  shall  not 
be  thus  with  thee  ;  for  I  neither  will  myself  conceive  ill  of  thee,  nor  report 
thee  to  Sir  John  de  Walton  as  meditating  harm  against  him  or  his  garrison 
—  nor,  to  speak  truth,  would  Sir  John  de  Walton  be  willing  to  believe  any 
one  who  did.  He  thinks  highly,  and  no  doubt  deservedly,  of  thy  good  faith 
towards  thy  lady,  and  would  conceive  it  unjust  to  suspect  the  fidelity  of  one 
who  has  given  evidence  of  his  willingness  to  meet  death  rather  than  betray 
the  least  secret  of  his  mistress.” 

“  In  preserving  her  secret,”  said  Bertram,  “  I  only  discharged  the  duty 
of  a  faithful  servant,  leaving  it  to  her  to  judge  how  long  such  a  secret  ought 
to  be  preserved  ;  for  a  faithful  servant  ought  to  think  as  little  of  the  issue 
towards  himself  of  the  commission  wdiich  he  bears,  as  the  band  of  flock  silk 
concerns  itself  with  the  secret  of  the  letter  which  it  secures.  And,  touching 
your  question  —  I  have  no  objections,  although  merely  to  satisfy  your 
curiosity,  to  unfold  to  you  that  these  old  prophecies  do  contain  some  intima¬ 
tions  of  wars  befalling  in  Douj^las  Dale,  between  an  haggard,  orwnld  hawk, 
which  I  take  to  be  the  cognizance  of  Sir  John  de  Walton,  and  the  three 
stars,  or  martlets,  which  is  the  cognizance  of  the  Douglas ;  and  more  par¬ 
ticulars  I  could  tell  of  these  onslaughts,  did  I  know  whereabouts  is  a  place 
in  these  woods  termed  Bloody  Sykes,  the  scene  also,  as  I  comprehend,  of 
slaughter  and  death,  between  the  followers  of  the  three  stars  and  those  who 
hold  the  part  of  the  Saxon,  or  King  of  England.” 

“  Such  a  place,”  replied  Gilbert  Greenleaf,  “  I  have  heard  often  mentioned 
by  that  name  among  the  natives  of  these  parts  ;  nevertheless  it  is  vain  to 
seek  to  discover  the  precise  spot,  as  these  wily  Scots  conceal  from  us  with 
care  every  thing  respecting  the  geography  of  their  country,  as  it  is  called 
by  learned  men  ;  but  we  may  here  mention  the  Bloody  Sykes,  Bottomless 
Myre,  and  other  places,  as  portentous  names,  to  wdiich  their  traditions 
attach  some  signification  of  war  and  slaughter.  If  it  suits  your  wish,  how¬ 
ever,  we  can,  on  our  way  to  the  church,  try  to  find  this  place  called  Bloody 
Sykes,  which  I  doubt  not  we  shall  trace  out  long  before  the  traitors  "who 
meditate  an  attack  upon  us  wall  find  a  powder  sufficient  for  the  attempt.” 

Accordingly  the  minstrel  and  archer,  the  latter  of  whom  was  by  this 
time  reasonably  well  refreshed  with  wine,  marched  out  of  the  castle  of 
Douglas,  without  w’aiting  for  others  of  the  garrison,  resolving  to  seek  the 
dingle  bearing  the  ominous  name  of  Bloody  Sykes,  concerning  which  the 
archer  only  knew  that  by  mere  accident  he  had  heard  of  a  place  bearing 


368 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


such  a  name,  at  the  hunting  match  made  under  the  auspices  of  Sir  John 
de  Walton,  and  knew  that  it  lay  in  the  woods  somewhere  near  the  town  of 
Douglas  and  in  the  vicinage  of  the  castle. 


(Cliaptir  ttiB  M'mimi)}. 

Hotspur.  I  cannot  choose;  sometimes  he  angers  me 
With  telling  me  of  the  moldwarp  and  the  ant, 

Of  the  dreamer  Merlin,  and  his  prophecies; 

And  of  a  dragon  and  a  finless  fish, 

A  clipt-wing’d  griffin  and  a  moulten  raven, 

A  couching  lion,  and  a  ramping  cat. 

And  such  a  deal  of  skimble-skamble  stuff, 

As  puts  me  from  my  faith. 

King  Henry  IV. 

The  conversation  between  the  minstrel  and  the  ancient  archer  naturally 
pursued  a  train  somewhat  resembling  that  of  Hotspur  and  Glendower,  in 
which  Gilbert  Greenleaf  by  degrees  took  a  larger  share  than  was  apparently 
consistent  with  his  habits  and  education ;  but  the  truth  was  that  as  he 
exerted  himself  to  recall  the  recognisances  of  military  chieftains,  their 
war-cries,  emblems,  and  other  types  by  which  they  distinguished  them¬ 
selves  in  battle,  and  might  undoubtedly  be  indicated  in  prophetic  rhymes, 
he  began  to  experience  the  pleasure  which  most  men  entertain  when  they 
find  themselves  unexpectedly  possessed  of  a  faculty  which  the  moment  calls 
upon  them  to  employ,  and  renders  them  important  in  the  possession  of. 
The  minstrehs  sound  good  sense  was  certainly  somewhat  surprised  at  the 
inconsistencies  sometimes  displayed  by  his  companion,  as  he  was  carried 
olF  by  the  willingness  to  make  show  of  his  newly-discovered  faculty  on  the 
one  hand,  and,  on  the  other,  to  call  to  mind  the  prejudices  which  he  had 
nourished  during  his  whole  life  against  minstrels,  who,  with  the  train  of 
legends  and  fables,  were  the  more  likely  to  be  false,  as  being  generally  de¬ 
rived  from  the  “  North  Countrie.^^ 

As  they  strolled  from  one  glade  of  the  forest  to  another,  the  minstrel 
began  to  be  surprised  at  the  number  of  Scottish  votaries  whom  they  met, 
and  who  seemed  to  be  hastening  to  the  church,  and,  as  it  appeared  by  the 
boughs  which  they  carried,  to  assist  in  the  ceremony  of  the  day.  To  each 
of  these  the  archer  put  a  question  respecting  the  existence  of  a  place  called 
Blood}’’  Sykes,  and  where  it  was  to  be  found  —  but  all  seemed  either  to  be 
ignorant  on  the  subject,  or  desirous  of  evading  it,  for  which  they  found 
some  pretext  in  the  jolly  archer’s  manner  of  irfterrogation,  which  savoured 
a  good  deal  of  the  genial  breakfast.  The  general  answer  was,  that  they 
knew  no  such  place,  or  had  other  matters  to  attend  to  upon  the  morn  of  a 
holy-tide  than  answering  frivolous  questions.  At  last,  when,  in  one  or  two 
instances,  the  answer  of  the  Scottish  almost  approached  to  sullenness,  the 
minstrel  remarked  it,  observing  that  there  was  ever  some  mischief  on  foot 
when  the  people  of  this  country  could  not  find  a  civil  answer  to  their  betters, 
which  is  usually  so  ready  among  them,  and  that  they  appeared  to  be  making 
a  strong  muster  for  the  service  of  Palm  Sunday. 

“You  will  doubtless,  Sir  Archer,”  continued  the  minstrel,  “make  your 
report  to  your  knight  accordingly ;  for  I  promise  you,  that  if  you  do  not,  I 
myself,  whose  lady’s  freedom  is  also  concerned,  will  feel  it  my  duty  to 
place  before  Sir  John  de  Walton  the  circumstances  which  make  me  enter¬ 
tain  suspicion  of  this  extraordinary  confluence  of  Scottish  men,  and  the 
surliness  which  has  replaced  their  wonted  courtesy  of  manners.” 


CASTLE  LANQEROUS. 


369 


“  Tush,  Sir  Minstrel,”  replied  the  archer,  displeased  at  Bertram’s  inter¬ 
ference,  “  believe  me,  that  armies  have  ere  now  depended  on  my  report  to 
the  general,  which  has  always  been  perspicuous  and  clear,  according  to  the 
duties  of  war.  Your  walk,  my  worthy  friend,  has  been  in  a  separate  de¬ 
partment,  such  as  affairs  of  peace,  old  songs,  prophecies,  and  the  like,  in 
which  it  is  far  from  my  thoughts  to  contend  with  you  ;  but  credit  me,  it 
will  be  most  for  the  reputation  of  both,  that  we  do  not  attempt  to  interfere 
with  what  concerns  each  other.” 

“  It  is  far  from  my  wish  to  do  so,”  replied  the  minstrel ;  “  but  I  would 
wish  that  a  speedy  return  should  be  made  to  the  castle,  in  order  to  ask  Sir 
John  de  Walton’s  opinion  of  that  which  we  have  but  just  seen.” 

“  To  this,”  replied  Greenleaf,  “  there  can  be  no  objection ;  but,  would 
you  seek  the  governor  at  the  hour  which  now  is,  you  will  find  him  most 
readily  by  going  to  the  church  of  Douglas,  to  which  he  regularly  wends  on 
occasions  such  as  the  present,  with  the  principal  part  of  his  officers,  to 
ensure,  by  his  presence,  that  no  tumult  arise  (of  which  there  is  no  little 
dread)  between  the  English  and  the  Scottish.  Let  us  therefore  hold  to  our 
original  intention  of  attending  the  service  of  the  day,  and  we  shall  rid  our¬ 
selves  of  these  entangled  woods,  and  gain  the  shortest  road  to  the  church 
of  Douglas.” 

“  Let  us  go,  then,  with  all  despatch,”  said  the  minstrel ;  “  and  with  the 
greater  haste,  that  it  appears  to  me  that  something  has  passed  on  this  very 
spot  this  morning,  which  argues  that  the  Christian  peace  due  to  the  day 
has  not  been  inviolably  observed.  What  mean  these  drops  of  blood?” 
alluding  to  those  which  had  flowed  from  the  wounds  of  Turnbull — > 
“  Wherefore  is  the  earth  impressed  with  these  deep  tints,  the  footsteps  of 
armed  men  advancing  and  retreating,  doubtless,  according  to  the  chances 
of  a  fierce  and  heady  conflict?” 

“  By  Our  Lady,”  returned  Greenleaf,  “  I  must  own  that  thou  seest  clear. 
What  were  my  eyes  made  of  when  they  permitted  thee  to  be  the  first 
discoverer  of  these  signs  of  conflict?  Here  are  feathers  of  a  blue  plume, 
which  I  ought  to  remember,  seeing  my  knight  assumed  it,  or  at  least  per¬ 
mitted  me  to  place  it  in  his  helmet,  this  morning,  in  sign  of  returning  hope, 
from  the  liveliness  of  its  colour.  But  here  it  lies,  shorn  from  his  head, 
and,  if  I  may  guess,  by  no  friendly  hand.  Come,  friend,  to  the  church — to 
the  church  —  and  thou  shalt  have  my  example  of  the  manner  in  wdiich  De 
Walton  ought  to  be  supported  when  in  danger.” 

He  led  the  way  through  the  town  of  Douglas,  entering  at  the  southern 
gate,  and  up  the  very  street  in  wLich  Sir  Aymer  de  Valence  had  charged 
the  Phantom  Knight. 

We  can  now  say  more  fully,  that  the  church  of  Douglas  had  originally 
been  a  stately  Gothic  building,  whose  towers,  arising  high  above  the  walls 
of  the  town,  bore  witness  to  the  grandeur  of  its  original  construction.  It 
was  now  partly  ruinous,  and  the  small  portion  of  open  space  which  was 
retained  for  public  worship  w^as  fitted  up  in  the  family  aisle  where  its 
deceased  lords  rested  from  worldly  labours  and  the  strife  of  war.  From 
the  open  ground  in  the  front  of  the  building,  their  eye  could  pursue  a  con¬ 
siderable  part  of  the  course  of  the  river  Douglas,  which  approached  the 
town  from  the  south-west,  bordered  by  a  line  of  hills  fantastically  diver¬ 
sified  in  their  appearance,  and  in  many  places  covered  with  copsewood, 
which  descended  towards  the  valley,  and  formed  a  part  of  the  tangled  and 
intricate  woodland  by  which  the  town  was  surrounded.  The  river  itself, 
sweeping  round  the  west  side  of  the  town,  and  from  thence  northward, 
supplied  that  large  inundation  or  artificial  piece  of  water  which  we 
have  already  mentioned.  Several  of  the  Scottish  people,  bearing  wdllow 
branches,  or  those  of  yew,  to  represent  the  palms  which  were  the  symbol  of 
the  day,  seemed  wandering  in  the  churchyard  as  if  to  attend  the  approach 
of  some  person  of  peculiar  sanctity,  or  procession  of  monks  and  friars, 

VoL.  XII.  — 24 


3T0 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


come  to  render  the  homage  due  to  the  solemnity.  At  the  moment  almost 
that  Bertram  and  his  companion  entered  the  churchyard,  the  Lady  of 
Berkely,  who  was  in  the  act  of  following  Sir  John*^de  Walton  into  the 
church,  after  having  witnessed  his  conflict  with  the  young  Knight  of 
Douglas,  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  faithful  minstrel,  and  instantly  deter¬ 
mined  to  regain  the  company  of  that  old  servant  of  her  house  and  con¬ 
fidant  of  her  fortunes,  and  trust  to  the  chance  afterwards  of  being  rejoined 
by  Sir  John  de  AValton,  with  a  sufi&cient  party  to  provide  for  her  safety, 
which  she  in  no  respect  doubted  it  would  be  his  care  to  collect.  She  darted 
away  accordingly  from  the  path  in  which  she  was  advancing,  and  reached 
the  place  where  Bertram,  with  his  new  acquaintance  Greenleaf  were  making 
some  enquiries  of  the  soldiers  of  the  English  garrison,  whom  the  service  of 
the  day  had  brought  there. 

Lady  Augusta  Berkely,  in  the  meantime,  had  an  opportunity  to  say 
privately  to  her  faithful  attendant  and  guide,  “  Take  no  notice  of  me,  friend 
Bertram,  but  take  heed,  if  possible,  that  we  be  not  again  separated  from 
each  other.^^  Having  given  him  this  hint,  she  observed  that  it  was  adopted 
by  the  minstrel,  and  that  he  presently  afterwards  looked  round  and  set  his 
eye  upon  her,  as,  mufiled  in  her  pilgrim’s  cloak,  she  slowly  withdrew  to 
another  part  of  the  cemetery,  and  seemed  to  halt,  until,  detaching  himself 
from  Greenleaf,  he  should  find  an  opportunity  of  joining  her. 

Nothing,  in  truth,  could  have  more  sensibly  affected  the  faithful  minstrel 
than  the  singular  mode  of  communication  which  acquainted  him  that  his 
mistress  was  safe,  and  at  liberty  to  choose  her  own  motions,  and,  as  he 
might  hope,  disposed  to  extricate  herself  from  the  dangers  which  sur¬ 
rounded  her  in  Scotland,  by  an  immediate  retreat  to  her  own  country  and 
domain.  He  would  gladly  have  approached  and  joined  her,  but  she  took 
an  opportunity  by  a  sign  to  caution  him  against  doing  so,  while  at  the  same 
time  he  remained  somewhat  apprehensive  of  the  consequences  of  bringing 
her  under  the  notice  of  his  new  friend,  Greenleaf,  who  might  perhaps  think 
it  proper  to  busy  himself  so  as  to  gain  some  favour  with  the  knight  who 
was  at  the  head  of  the  garrison.  Meantime  the  old  archer  continued  his 
conversation  with  Bertram,  while  the  minstrel,  like  many  other  men  simi¬ 
larly  situated,  heartily  wished  that  his  well-m-eaning  companion  had  been  a 
hundred  fathoms  under  ground,  so  his  evanishment  had  given  him  license 
to  join  his  mistress;  but  all  he  had  in  his  power  was  to  approach  her  as 
near  as  he  could,  without  creating  any  suspicion. 

“  I  would  pray  you,  worthy  minstrel,”  said  Greenleaf,  after  looking  care¬ 
fully  round,  “  that  we  may  prosecute  together  the  theme  which  we  were 
agitating  before  we  came  hither ;  is  it  not  your  opinion,  that  the  Scottish 
natives  have  fixed  this  very  morning  for  some  of  those  dangerous  attempts 
which  they  have  repeatedly  made,  and  which  are  so  carefully  guarded 
against  by  the  governors  placed  in  this  district  of  Douglas  by  our  good 
King  Edward,  our  rightful  sovereign?” 

“  I  cannot  see,”  replied  the  minstrel,  “  on  what  grounds  you  found  such 
an  apprehension,  or  what  you  see  here  in  the  churchyard  different  from 
that  you  talked  of  as  we  approached  it,  when  you  held  me  rather  in  scorn, 
for  giving  way  to  some  suspicions  of  the  same  kind.” 

“  Do  you  not  see,”  added  the  archer,  “  the  numbers  of  men,  with  strange 
faces,  and  in  various  disguisements,  who  are  thronging  about  these  ancient 
ruins,  which  are  usually  so  solitary  ?  Yonder,  for  example,  sits  a  boy  who 
seems  to  shun  observation,  and  whose  dress,  I  will  be  sworn,  has  never  been 
shaped  in  Scotland.” 

“  And  if  he  is  an  English  pilgrim,”  replied  the  minstrel,  observing  that 
the  archer  pointed  towards  the  Lady  of  Berkely,  “  he  surely  affords  less 
matter  of  suspicion.” 

“  I  know  not  that,”  said  old  Greenleaf,  “  but  I  think  it  will  bo  my  duty 
to  inform  Sir  John  de  Walton,  if  I  can  reach  him,  that  there  are  many  per- 


CASTLE  DANCE  nous. 


871 


sons  here,  who  in  outward  appearance  neither  belong  to  the  garrison,  nor 
to  this  part  of  the  country.’’ 

“  Consider,”  said  Bertram,  “  before  you  harass  with  accusation  a  poor 
young  man,  and  subject  him  to  the  consequences  which  must  necessarily 
attend  upon  suspicions  of  this  nature,  how  many  circumstances  call  forth 
men  peculiarly  to  devotion  at  this  period.  Not  only  is  this  the  time  of  the 
triumphal  entrance  of  the  founder  of  the  Christian  religion  into  Jerusalem, 
but  the  day  itself  is  called  Dominica  Confitentium,  or  the  Sunday  of  Con¬ 
fessors,  and  the  palm-tree,  or  the  box  and  yew,  which  are  used  as  its  sub¬ 
stitutes,  and  which  are  distributed  to  the  priests,  are  burnt  solemnly  to 
ashes,  and  those  ashes  distributed  among  the  pious,  by  the  priests,  upon  the 
Ash-Wednesday  of  the  succeeding  year,  all  which  rites  and  ceremonies  in 
our  country,  are  observed,  by  order  of  the  Christian  Church  ;  nor  ought  you, 
gentle  archer,  nor  can  you  without  a  crime,  persecute  those  as  guilty  of 
designs  upon  your  garrison,  who  can  ascribe  their  presence  here  to  their 
desire  to  discharge  the  duties  of  the  day  ;  and  look  ye  at  yon  numerous 
procession  approaching  with  banner  and  cross,  and,  as  it  appears,  consist¬ 
ing  of  some  churchman  of  rank,  and  his  attendants ;  let  us  first  enquire 
wdio  he  is,  and  it  is  probable  we  shall  find  in  his  name  and  rank  sufiicient 
security  for  the  peaceable  and  orderly  behaviour  of  those  whom  piety  has 
this  (lay  assembled  at  the  church  of  Douglas.” 

Crcenleaf  accordingly  made  the  investigation  recommended  by  his  com¬ 
panion,  and  received  information  that  the  holy  man  who  headed  the  pro¬ 
cession,  was  no  other  than  tlie  diocesan  of  the  district,  the  Bishop  of  Glas¬ 
gow,  who  had  come  to  give  his  countenance  to  the  rites  with  which  the  day 
was  to  be  sanctified. 

The  prelate  accordingly  entered  the  walls  of  the  dilapidated  churchyard, 
preceded  by  his  cross-bearers,  and  attended  by  numbers,  with  boughs  of 
yew  and  other  evergreens,  used  on  the  festivity  instead  of  palms.  Among 
them  the  holy  father  showered  his  blessing,  accompanied  by  signs  of  the 
cross,  which  were  met  with  devout  exclamations  by  such  of  the  worshippers 
as  crowded  around  him :  —  “  To  thee,  reverend  father,  we  apply  for  pardon 
for  our  ofiences,  which  we  humbly  desire  to  confess  to  thee,  in  order  that 
we  may  obtain  pardon  from  Heaven.” 

In  this  manner  the  congregation  and  the  dignified  clergyman  met  together, 
exchanging  pious  greeting,  and  seemingly  intent  upon  nothing  but  the  rites 
of  the  day.  The  acclamations  of  the  congregation,  mingled  with  the  deep 
voice  of  tlie  officiating  priest,  dispensing  the  sacred  ritual ;  the  whole  form¬ 
ing  a  scene  which,  conducted  with  the  Catholic  skill  and  ceremonial,  was 
at  once  imposing  and  affecting. 

The  archer,  on  seeing  the  zeal  with  which  the  people  in  the  churchyard, 
as  well  as  a  number  who  issued  from  the  church,  hastened  proudly  to  salute 
the  bishop  of  the  diocese,  was  rather  ashamed  of  the  suspicions  wdiich  he’ 
had  entertained  of  the  sincerity  of  the  good  man’s  purpose  in  coming 
hither.  Taking  advantage  of  a  fit  of  devotion,  not  perhaps  very  common 
with  old  Greenleaf,  who  at  this  moment  thrust  himself  forward  to  share  in 
those  spiritual  advantages  which  the  prelate  was  dispensing,  Bertram 
slipped  clear  of  his  English  friend,  and,  gliding  to  the  side  of  the  Lady 
Augusta,  exchanged,  by  tlie  pressure  of  the  hand,  a  mutual  congratulation 
upon  having  rejoined  company.  On  a  sign  by  the  minstrel,  they  withdrew 
to  the  inside  of  the  church,  so  as  to  remain  unobserved  amidst  the  crowd, 
in  which  they  were  favoured  by  the  dark  shadows  of  some  parts  of  the 
building. 

The  body  of  the  church,  broken  as  it  was,  and  hung  round  with  the  ar¬ 
morial  trophies  of  the  last  Lords  of  Douglas,  furnished  rather  the  appearance 
of  a  sacrilegiously  desecrated  ruin,  than  the  inside  of  a  holy  place  ;  yet 
some  care  appeared  to  have  been  taken  to  prepare  it  for  the  service  of  the 
day.  At  the  lower  end  hung  the  great  escutcheon  of  William  Lord  of 


372 


WAVER  LEY  NOVELS. 


Douglas,  who  had  lately  died  a  prisoner  in  England  ;  around  that  escutch¬ 
eon  were  placed  the  smaller  shields  of  his  sixteen  ancestors,  and  a  deep 
black  shadow  was  diffused  by  the  whole  mass,  unless  where  relieved  by  the 
glance  of  the  coronets,  or  the  glimmer  of  bearings  particularly  gay  in  em¬ 
blazonry.  I  need  not  say  that  in  other  respects  the  interior  of  the  church 
was  much  dismantled,  it  being  the  very  same  place  in  which  Sir  Aymer  de 
Valence  held  an  interview  with  the  old  sexton  ;  and  who  now,  drawing  into 
a  separate  corner  some  of  the  straggling  parties  whom  he  had  collected  and 
brought  to  the  church,  kept  on  the  alert,  and  appeared  ready  for  an  attack 
as  well  at  mid-day  as  at  the  witching  hour  of  midnight.  This  was  the 
more  necessary,  as  the  eye  of  Sir  John  de  Walton  seemed  busied  in  search¬ 
ing  from  one  place  to  another,  as  if  unable  to  find  the  object  he  was  in  quest 
of,  which  the  reader  will  easily  understand  to  be  the  Lady  Augusta  de 
Berkely,  of  whom  he  had  lost  sight  in  the  pressure  of  the  multitude. 
At  the  eastern  part  of  the  church  was  fitted  up  a  temporary  altar,  by  the 
side  of  which,  arrayed  in  his  robes,  the  Bishop  of  Glasgow  had  taken  his 
place,  with  such  priests  and  attendants  as  composed  his  episcopal  retinue. 
His  suite  was  neither  numerous  nor  richly  attired,  nor  did  his  own  appear¬ 
ance  present  a  splendid  specimen  of  the  wealth  and  dignity  of  the  epis¬ 
copal  order.  When  he  laid  down,  however,  his  golden  cross,  at  the  stern 
command  of  the  King  of  England,  that  of  simple  wood,  which  he  assumed 
instead  thereof,  did  not  possess  less  authority,  nor  command  less  awe  among 
the  clergy  and  people  of  the  diocese. 

The  various  persons,  natives  of  Scotland,  now  gathered  around,  seemed 
to  watch  his  motions,  as  those  of  a  descended  saint,  and  the  English  waited 
in  mute  astonishment,  apprehensive  that  at  some  unexpected  signal  an 
attack  would  be  made  upon  them,  either  by  the  powers  of  earth  or  heaven, 
or  perhaps  by  both  in  combination.  The  truth  is,  that  so  great  was  the  de¬ 
votion  of  the  Scottish  clergy  of  the  higher  ranks  to  the  interests  of  the 
party  of  Bruce,  that  the  English  had  become  jealous  of  permitting  them  to 
interfere  even  with  those  ceremonies  of  the  Church  which  were  placed  under 
their  proper  management,  and  thence  the  presence  of  the  Bishop  of  Glas¬ 
gow,  officiating  at  a  high  festival  in  the  church  of  Douglas,  was  a  circum¬ 
stance  of  rare  occurrence,  and  not  unattended  both  with  wonder  and 
suspicion.  A  council  of  the  Church,  however,  had  lately  called  the  distin¬ 
guished  prelates  of  Scotland  to  the  discharge  of  their  duty  on  the  festivity 
of  Palm  Sunday,  and  neither  English  nor  Scottish  saw  the  ceremony  with 
indifference.  An  unwonted  silence  which  prevailed  in  the  church,  filled, 
as  it  appeared,  with  persons  of  different  views,  hopes,  wishes,  and  expecta¬ 
tions,  resembled  one  of  those  solemn  pauses  which  often  take  place  before 
a  strife  of  the  elements,  and  are  well  understood  to  be  the  forerunners  of 
some  dreadful  concussion  of  nature.  All  animals,  according  to  their 
various  nature,  express  their  sense  of  the  approaching  tempest ;  the  cattle, 
the  deer,  and  other  inhabitants  of  the  walks  of  the  forest,  withdraw  to  the 
inmost  recesses  of  their  pastures ;  the  sheep  crowd  into  their  fold  ;  and  the 
dull  stupor  of  universal  nature,  whether  animate  or  inanimate,  presages  its 
speedily  awakening  into  general  convulsion  and  disturbance,  when  the  lurid 
lightning  shall  hiss  at  command  of  the  diapason  of  the  thunder. 

It  was  thus  that,  in  deep  suspense,  those  who  had  come  to  the  church  in 
arms,  at  the  summons  of  Douglas,  awaited  and  expected  every  moment  a 
signal  to  attack,  while  the  soldiers  of  the  English  garrison,  aware  of  the 
evil  disposition  of  the  natives  towards  them,  were  reckoning  every  moment 
when  the  well-known  shouts  of  “Bows  and  bills  should  give  signal  for  a 
general  conflict,  and  both  parties,  gazing  fiercely  upon  each  other,  seemed 
to  expect  the  fatal  onset. 

Notwithstanding  the  tempest,  which  appeared  every  moment  ready  to 
burst,  the  Bishop  of  Glasgow  proceeded  with  the  utmost  solemnity  to  per¬ 
form  the  ceremonies  proper  to  the  day ;  he  paused  from  time  to  time  to 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


3T3 


Burvey  the  thron<^,  as  if  to  calculate  whether  the  turbulent  passions  of  those 
around  him  would  be  so  long  kept  under  as  to  admit  of  his  duties  being 
brought  to  a  close  in  a  manner  becoming  the  time  and  place. 

The  prelate  had  just  concluded  the  service,  when  a  person  advanced 
towards  him  with  a  solemn  and  mournful  aspect,  and  asked  if  the  reverend 
father  could  devote  a  few  moments  to  administer  comfort  to  a  dying  man, 
who  was  lying  wounded  close  by. 

The  churchman  signified  a  ready  acquiescence,  amidst  a  stillness  which, 
when  he  surveyed  the  lowering  brows  of  one  party  at  least  of  those  who 
were  in  the  church,  boded  no  peaceful  termination  to  this  fated  day.  The 
father  motioned  to  the  messenger  to  show  him  the  way,  and  proceeded  on 
his  mission,  attended  by  some  of  those  who  were  understood  to  be  followers 
of  the  Douglas. 

There  was  something  peculiarly  striking,  if  not  suspicious,  in  the  inter¬ 
view  which  followed.  In  a  subterranean  vault  was  deposited  the  persorvof 
a  large  tall  man,  whose  blood  flowed  copiously  through  two  or  three  ghastly 
wounds,  and  streamed  amongst  the  trusses  of  straw  on  which  he  lay ;  while 
his  features  exhibited  a  mixture  of  sternness  and  ferocity,  which  seemed 
prompt  to  kindle  into  a  still  more  savage  expression. 

The  reader  will  probably  conjecture  that  the  person  in  question  was  no 
other  than  Michael  Turnbull,  who,  wounded  in  the  rencounter  of  the  morn¬ 
ing,  had  been  left  by  some  of  his  friends  upon  the  straw,  which  was  ar¬ 
ranged  for  him  by  way  of  couch,  to  live  or  die  as  he  best  could.  The  pre¬ 
late,  on  entering  the  vault,  lost  no  time  in  calling  the  attention  of  the 
■wounded  man  to  the  state  of  his  spiritual  affairs,  and  assisting  him  to  such 
comfort  as  the  doctrine  of  the  Church  directed  should  be  administered  to 
departing  sinners.  The  words  exchanged  between  them  were  of  that  grave 
and  severe  character  which  passes  between  the  ghostly  father  and  his  pupil, 
when  one  world  is  rolling  away  from  the  view  of  the  sinner,  and  another  is 
displaying  itself  in  all  its  terrors,  and  thundering  in  the  ear  of  the  penitent 
that  retribution  which  the  deeds  done  in  the  flesh  must  needs  prepare  him 
to  expect.  This  is  one  of  the  most  solemn  meetings  which  can  take  place 
between  earthly  beings;  and  the  courageous  character  of  the  Jedwood 
forester,  as  well  as  the  benevolent  and  pious  expression  of  the  old  church¬ 
man,  considerably  enhanced  the  pathos  of  the  scene. 

“  Turnbull,^^  said  the  churchman,  “  I  trust  you  will  believe  me  when  I  say 
that  it  grieves  my  heart  to  see  thee  brought  to  this  situation  by  wounds 
which  it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you,  you  must  consider  mortal.^' 

“  Is  the  chase  ended,  then  V’  said  the  Jedwood  man  with  a  sigh.  “  I  care 
not,  good  father,  for  I  think  I  have  borne  me  as  becomes  a  gallant  quarry, 
and  that  the  old  forest  has  lost  no  credit  by  me,  whether  in  pursuit,  or  in 
bringing  to  bay ;  and  even  in  this  last  matter,  methinks  this  gay  English 
knight  would  not  have  come  ofi*  wdth  such  advantage  had  the  ground  on 
which  we  stood  been  alike  indifferent  to  both,  or  had  I  been  aware  of  his 
onset ;  but  it  will  be  seen,  by  any  one  who  takes  the  trouble  to  examine, 
that  poor  Michael  Turnbull’s  foot  slipped  twice  in  the  melee,  otherwise  it 
had  not  been  his  fate  to  be  lying  here  in  the  dead-thraw;*  while  yonder 
southron  would  probably  have  died  like  a  dog,  upon  this  bloody  straw,  in  his 
place.” 

The  bishop  replied,  advising  his  penitent  to  turn  from  vindictive  thoughts 
respecting  the  death  of  others,  and  endeavour  to  fix  his  attention  upon  his 
own  departure  from  existence,  which  seemed  shortly  about  to  take  place. 

“Nay,”  replied  the  wounded  man,  “you,  father,  undoubtedly  know  best 
what  is  fit  for  me  to  do ;  yet  methinks  it  would  not  be  very  well  with  me  if 
I  had  prolonged  to  this  time  of  day  the  task  of  revising  my  life,  and  I  am 
not  the  man  to  deny  that  mine  has  been  a  bloody  and  a  desperate  one.  But 


*  Or  death  agony. 
2  G 


W  A  V  E  R  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 


874 


you  will  grant  me  I  never  bore  malice  to  a  brave  enemy  for  having  done  me 
an  injury,  and  show  me  the  man,  being  a  Scotchman  born,  and  having  a 
natural  love  for  his  own  country,  who  hath  not,  in  these  times,  rather  pre¬ 
ferred  a  steel  cap  to  a  hat  and  feather,  or  who  hath  not  been  more  conver¬ 
sant  with  drawn  blades  than  with  prayer-book  ;  and  you  yourself  know, 
father,  whether,  in  our  proceedings  against  the  English  interest,  we  have 
not  uniformly  had  the  countenance  of  the  sincere  fathers  of  the  Scottish 
Church,  and  Avhether  we  have  not  been  exhorted  to  take  arms  and  make  use 
of  them  for  the  honour  of  the  King  of  Scotland,  and  the  defence  of  our  own 
rights/’ 

“Undoubtedly,”  said  the  prelate,  “such  have  been  our  exhortations 
towards  our  oppressed  countrymen,  nor  do  I  now  teach  you  a  different  doc¬ 
trine  ;  nevertheless,  having  now  blood  around  me,  and  a  dying  man  before 
me,  I  have  need  to  pray  that  I  have  not  been  misled  from  the  true  path,  and 
thus  become  the  means  of  misdirecting  others.  May  Heaven  forgive  me  if 
I  have  done  so,  since  I  have  only  to  plead  my  sincere  and  honest  intention 
in  excuse  for  the  erroneous  counsel  which  I  may  have  given  to  you  and 
others  touching  these  wars.  I  am  conscious  that  encouraging  you  so  to 
stain  your  swords  in  blood,  I  have  departed  in  some  degree  from  the  cha¬ 
racter  of  my  profession,  which  enjoins  that  we  neither  shed  blood,  nor  are 
the  occasion  of  its  being  shed.  May  Heaven  enable  us  to  obey  our  duties, 
and  to  repent  of  our  errors,  especially  such  as  have  occasioned  the  death  or 
distress  of  our  fellow-creatures.  And,  above  all,  may  this  dying  Christian 
become  aware  of  his  errors,  and  repent  with  sincerity  of  having  done  to 
others  that  which  he  would  not  willingly  have  suffered  at  their  hand  !” 

“  For  that  matter,”  answered  Turnbull,  “  the  time  has  never  been  when  I 
would  not  exchange  a  blow  with  the  best  man  who  ever  lived ;  and  if  I  was 
not  in  constant  practice  of  the  sword,  it  was  because  I  have  been  brought 
up  to  the  use  of  the  Jedwood-axe,  which  the  English  call  a  partisan,  and 
which  makes  little  difference,  I  understand,  from  the  sword  and  poniard.” 

“The  distinction  is  not  great,”  said  the  bishop;  “but  I  fear,  my  friend, 
that  life  taken  with  what  you  call  a  Jedwood-axe,  gives  you  no  privilege 
over  him  who  commits  the  same  deed,  and  inflicts  the  same  injury,  with  any 
other  weapon.” 

“  Nay,  worthy  father,”  said  the  penitent,  “  I  must  own  that  the  effect  of 
the  weapons  is  the  same,  as  far  as  concerns  the  man  who  suffers ;  but  I 
would  pray  of  you  information,  why  a  Jedwood  man  ought  not  to  use,  as  is 
the  custom  of  his  country,  a  Jedwood-axe,  being,  as  is  implied  in  the  name, 
the  offensive  weapon  proper  to  his  country?” 

“The  crime  of  murder,”  said  the  bishop,  “consists  not  in  the  weapon 
with  which  the  crime  is  inflicted,  but  in  the  pain  which  the  murderer  inflicts 
upon  his  fellow-creature,  and  the  breach  of  good  order  which  he  introduces 
into  heaven’s  lovely  and  peaceable  creation  ;  and  it  is  by  turning  your 
repentance  upon  this  crime  that  you  may  fairly  expect  to  propitiate  Heaven 
for  your  offences,  and  at  the  same  time  to  escape  the  consequences  which 
are  denounced  in  Holy  Writ  against  those  by  whom  man’s  blood  shall  be 
shed.” 

“  But,  good  father,”  said  the  wounded  man,  “  you  know  as  well  as  any 
one,  that  in  this  company,  and  in  this  very  church,  there  are  upon  the  watch 
scores  of  both  Scotchmen  and  Englishmen,  who  come  here  not  so  much  to 
discharge  the  religions  duties  of  the  day,  as  literally  to  bereave  each  other 
of  their  lives,  and  give  a  new  example  of  the  horror  of  those  feuds  which 
the  two  extremities  of  Britain  nourish  against  each  other.  Whaft  conduct, 
then,  is  a  poor  man  like  me  to  hold?  Am  I  not  to  raise  this  hand  against 
the  English,  which  methinks  I  still  can  make  a  tolerably  efficient  one  —  or 
am  I,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  to  hear  the  war-cry  when  it  is  raised,  and 
hold  back  my  sword  from  the  slaughter?  Methinks  it  will  be  difficult,  per¬ 
haps  altogether  impossible,  for  me  to  do  so  ;  but  if  such  is  the  pleasure  of 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


375 

Heaven,  and  your  advice,  most  reverend  father,  unquestionably  I  must  do 
my  best  to  be  governed  by  your  directions,  as  of  one  who  has  a  right  and 
title  to  direct  us  in  every  dilemma,  or  case,  as  they  term  it,  of  troubled  con¬ 
science/’ 

“Unquestionably,”  said  the  bishop,  “it  is  my  duty,  as  I  have  already 
said,  to  give  no  occasion  this  day  for  the  shedding  of  blood,  or  the  breach 
of  peace;  and  I  must  charge  you,  as  my  penitent,  that  upon  your  soul’s 
safety,  you  do  not  minister  any  occasion  to  affray  or  bloodshed,  either  by 
maintaining  such  in  your  own  person,  or  inciting  others  to  the  same;  for  by 
following  a  different  course  of  advice,  I  am  certain  that  you,  as  well  as 
myself,  would  act  sinfully  and  out  of  character.” 

“  So  I  will  endeavour  to  think,  reverend  father,”  answered  the  hunts¬ 
man  ;  “  nevertheless,  I  hope  it  will  be  remembered  in  my  favour  that  I  am 
the  first  person  bearing  the  surname  of  Turnbull,  together  with  the  proper 
name  of  the  Prince  of  Archangels  himself,  who  has  at  any  time  been  able 
to  sustain  the  alfront  occasioned  by  the  presence  of  a  southron  with  a  drawn 
sword,  and  was  not  thereby  provoked  to  pluck  forth  his  own  weapon,  and  to 
lay  about  him,” 

“  Take  care,  my  son,”  returned  the  Prelate  of  Glasgow,  “  and  observe, 
that  even  now  thou  art  departing  from  those  resolutions  which,  but  a  few 
minutes  since,  thou  didst  adopt  upon  serious  and  just  consideration  ;  where¬ 
fore  do  not  be,  0  my  son  !  like  the  sow  that  has  wallowed  in  the  mire,  and, 
having  been  washed,  repeats  its  act  of  pollution,  and  becomes  again  yet 
fouler  than  it  was  before.” 

“Well,  reverend  father,”  replied  the  wounded  man,  “although  it  seems 
almost  unnatural  for  Scottishmen  and  English  to  meet  and  part  without  a 
buffet,  yet  I  will  endeavour  most  faithfully  not  to  minister  any  occasion  of 
strife,  nor,  if  possible,  to  snatch  at  any  such  occasion  as  shall  be  ministered 
to  me.” 

“  In  doing  so,”  returned  the  bishop,  “  thou  wilt  best  atone  for  the  injury 
which  thou  hast  done  to  the  law  of  Heaven  upon  former  occasions,  and  thou 
shalt  prevent  the  causes  for  strife  betwixt  thee  and  thy  brethren  of  the 
southern  land,  and  shalt  eschew  the  temptation  towards  that  blood-guiltiness 
which  is  so  .rife  in  this  our  day  and  generation.  And  do  not  think  that  I 
am  imposing  upon  thee,  by  these  admonitions,  a  duty  more  difficult  than  it 
is  in  thy  covenant  to  bear,  as  a  man  and  as  a  Christian.  I  myself  am  a 
man  and  a  Scotchman,  and,  as  such,  I  feel  offended  at  the  unjust  conduct 
of  the  English  towards  our  country  and  sovereign  ;  and  thinking  as  you  do 
yourself,  I  know  w'hat  you  must  suffer  when  you  are  obliged  to  submit  to 
national  insults,  unretaliated  and  unrevenged.  But  let  us  not  conceive  our¬ 
selves  the  agents  of  that  retributive  vengeance  which  Heaven  has,  in  a  pe¬ 
culiar  degree,  declared  to  be  its  own  attribute.  Let  us,  while  we  see  and 
feel  the  injuries  inflicted  on  our  own  country,  not  forget  that  our  own  raids, 
ambuscades,  and  surprisals,  have  been  at  least  equally  fatal  to  the  English 
as  their  attacks  and  forays  have  been  to  us ;  and,  in  short,  let  the  mutual 
injuries  of  the  crosses  of  Saint  Andrew  and  of  Saint  George  be  no  longer 
considered  as  hostile  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  opposite  district,  at  least 
during  the  festivals  of  religion  ;  but  as  they  are  mutually  signs  of  redemp¬ 
tion,  let  them  be,  in  like  manner,  intimations  of  forbearance  and  peace  on 
both  sides.” 

“  I  am  contented,”  answered  Turnbull,  “  to  abstain  from  all  offences 
towards  others,  and  shall  even  endeavour  to  keep  myself  from  resenting 
those  of  others  towards  me,  in  the  hope  of  bringing  to  pass  such  a  quiet 
and  godly  state  of  things  as  your  words,  reverend  father,  induce  me  to 
expect.”  Turning  his  face  to  the  wall,  the  Borderer  lay  in  stern  expectation 
of  approaching  death,  which  the  bishop  left  him  to  contemplate. 

The  peaceful  disposition  which  the  prelate  had  inspired  into  Michael 
Turnbull,  had  in  some  degree  dilfused  itself  among  those  present,  who  heard 


376 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


with  awe  the  spiritual  admonition  to  suspend  the  national  antipathy,  and 
remain  in  truce  and  amity  with  each  other.  Heaven  had,  however,  decreed 
that  the  national  quarrel,  in  which  so  much  blood  had  been  sacrificed,  should 
that  day  again  be  the  occasion  of  deadly  strife. 

A  loud  flourish  of  trumpets,  seeming  to  proceed  from  beneath  the  earth, 
now  rung  through  the  church,  and  roused  the  attention  of  the  soldiers  and 
worshippers  then  assembled.  Most  of  those  who  heard  these  warlike  sounds 
betook  themselves  to  their  weapons,  as  if  they  considered  it  useless  to  wait 
any  longer  for  the  signal  of  conflict.  Hoarse  voices,  rude  exclamations,  the 
rattle  of  swords  against  their  sheaths,  or  their  clashing  against  other  pieces 
of  armour,  gave  an  awful  presage  of  an  onset,  which,  however,  was  for  a 
time  averted  by  the  exhortations  of  the  bishop.  A  second  flourish  of  trum¬ 
pets  having  taken  place,  the  voice  of  a  herald  made  proclamation  to  the 
following  purpose :  — 

“  That  whereas  there  were  many  noble  pursuivants  of  chivalry  presently 
assembled  in  the  Kirk  of  Douglas,  and  whereas  there  existed  among  them 
the  usual  causes  of  quarrel  and  points  of  debate  for  their  advancement  in 
chivalry,  therefore  the  Scottish  knights  were  ready  to  fight  any  number  of 
the  English  who  might  be  agreed,  either  upon  the  superior  beauty  of  their 
ladies,  or  upon  the  national  quarrel  in  any  of  its  branches,  or  upon  what¬ 
ever  point  might  be  at  issue  between  them,  which  should  be  deemed  satis¬ 
factory  ground  of  quarrel  by  both  ;  and  the  knights  who  should  chance  to 
be  worsted  in  such  dispute  should  renounce  the  prosecution  thereof,  or  the 
bearing  arms  therein  thereafter,  with  such  other  conditions  to  ensue  upon 
their  defeat  as  might  be  agreed  upon  by  a  council  of  the  knights  present  at 
the  Kirk  of  Douglas  aforesaid.  But  foremost  of  all,  any  number  of  Scottish 
knights,  from  one  to  twenty,  will  defend  the  quarrel  which  has  already 
draAvn  blood,  touching  the  freedom  of  Lady  Augusta  de  Berkely,  and  the 
rendition  of  Douglas  Castle  to  the  owner  here  present.  Wherefore  it  is 
required  that  the  English  knights  do  intimate  their  consent  that  such  trial 
of  valour  take  place,  which,  according  to  the  rules  of  chivalry,  they  cannot 
refuse,  without  losing  utterly  the  reputation  of  valour,  and  incurring  the 
diminution  of  such  other  degree  of  estimation  as  a  courageous  pursuivant 
of  arms  would  willingly  be  held  in,  both  by  the  good  knights  of  his  own 
country,  and  those  of  others.^^ 

This  unexpected  gage  of  battle  realized  the  worst  fears  of  those  who  had 
looked  with  suspicion  on  the  extraordinary  assemblage  this  day  of  the  de¬ 
pendents  of  the  House  of  Douglas.  After  a  short  pause,  the  trumpets  again 
flourished  lustily,  when  the  reply  of  the  English  knights  was  made  in  the 
following  terms : — 

“  That  God  forbid  the  rights  and  privileges  of  England’s  knights,  and  the 
beauty  of  her  damsels,  should  not  be  asserted  by  her  children,  or  that  such 
English  knights  as  were  here  assembled,  should  show  the  least  backward¬ 
ness  to  accept  the  combat  ofFered,  whether  grounded  upon  the  superior 
beauty  of  their  ladies,  or  whether  upon  the  causes  of  dispute  between  the 
countries,  for  either  or  all  of  which  the  knights  of  England  here  present 
were  willing  to  do  battle  in  the  terms  of  the  indenture  aforesaid,  while  sword 
and  lance  shall  endure.  Saving  and  excepting  the  surrender  of  the  Castle 
of  Douglas,  which  can  be  rendered  to  no  one  b^ut  England’s  king,  or  those 
acting  under  his  orders.” 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


377 


Cjinpln  tjir  CinnitiBtji. 

Cry  the  wild  war-note,  let  the  champions  pass, 
f  Do  bravely  eacli,  and  God  defend  the  right; 

Upon  Saint  Andrew  thrice  can  they  thus  cry, 

And  thrice  they  shout  on  height, 

And  then  marked  them  on  the  Englishmen, 

As  I  have  told  you  right. 

Saint  George  the  bright,  our  ladies’  knight, 

To  name  they  were  full  fain; 

Our  Englishmen  they  cried  on  height, 

And  thrice  they  shout  again. 

Old  Ballad. 

The  extraordinary  crisis  mentioned  in  the  preceding  chapter,  was  the 
cause,  as  may  be  supposed,  of  the  leaders  on  both  sides  now  throwing  aside 
all  concealment,  and  displaying  their  utmost  strength,  by  marshalling 
their  respective  adherents ;  the  renowned  Knight  of  Douglas,  with  Sir 
Malcolm  Fleming  and  other  distinguished  cavaliers,  were  seen  in  close  con¬ 
sultation. 

Sir  John  de  Walton,  startleii  by  the  first  flourish  of  trumpets,  while 
anxiously  endeavouring  to  secure  a  retreat  for  the  Lady  Augusta,  was  in  a 
moment  seen  collecting  his  followers,  in  which  he  was  assisted  by  the  active 
friendship  of  the  Knight  of  Valence. 

The  Lady  of  Berkely  showed  no  craven  spirit  at  these  warlike  prepara¬ 
tions  ;  she  advanced,  closely  followed  by  the  faithful  Bertram,  and  a  female 
in  a  riding-hood,  whose  face,  though  carefully  concealed,  was  no  other  than 
that  of  the  unfortunate  Margaret  de  Ilautlieu,  whose  worst  fears  had  been 
realized  as  to  the  faithlessness  of  her  betrothed  knight. 

A  pause  ensued,  which  for  some  time  no  one  present  thought  himself  of 
authority  sufiicient  to  break. 

At  last  the  Knight  of  Douglas  stepped  forward  and  said,  loudly,  “  I  wait 
to  know  whether  Sir  John  de  AValton  requests  leave  of  James  of  Douglas 
to  evacuate  his  castle  without  further  wasting  that  daylight  which  might 
show  us  to  judge  a  fair  field,  and  whether  he  craves  Douglas’s  protection  in 
doing  so  ?” 

The  Knight  of  Walton  drew  his  sword.  “  I  hold  the  Castle  of  Douglas,’^ 
he  said,  “  in  spite  of  all  deadly,  —  and  never  will  I  ask  the  protection  from 
any  one  which  my  own  sword  is  competent  to  afibrd  me  !” 

“  I  stand  by  3’ou,  Sir  John,”  said  Aymer  de  Valence,  “  as  your  true  com¬ 
rade,  against  whatever  odds  may  oppose  themselves  to  us.” 

“  Courage,  noble  English,”  said  the  voice  of  Greenleaf ;  “  take  your 
weapons  in  God’s  name.  Bows  and  bills!  bows  and  bills! — A  messenger 
brings  us  notice  that  Pembroke  is  in  full  march  hither  from  the  borders  of 
Ayrshire,  and  will  be  with  us  in  half  an  hour.  Fight  on,  gallant  English  ! 
Valence  to  the  rescue  !  and  long  life  to  the  gallant  Earl  of  Pembroke  !” 

Those  English  within  and  around  the  church  no  longer  delayed  to  take 
arms,  and  De  Walton,  crying  out  at  the  height  of  his  voice,  “  I  implore  the 
Douglas  to  look  nearly  to  the  safety  of  the  ladies,”  fought  his  way  to  the 
church  door ;  the  Scottish  finding  themselves  unable  to  resist  the  impres¬ 
sion  of  terror  which  affected  them  at  the  sight  of  this  renowned  knight, 
seconded  by  his  brother-in-arms,  both  of  whom  had  been  so  long  the  terror 
of  the  district.  In  the  meantime,  it  is  possible  that  De  AValton  might  alto¬ 
gether  have  forced  his  way  out  of  the  church,  had  he  not  been  met  boldly 
by  the  young  son  of  Thomas  Dickson  of  Ilazelside,  while  his  father  was 
receiving  from  Douglas  the  charge  of  preserving  the  stranger  ladies  from  all 
harm  from  the  fight,  which,  so  long  suspended,  was  now  on  the  point  of 
taking  place. 

o  „  o 

^  U 


378 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


De  Walton  cast  his  eye  upon  the  Lady  Augusta,  •with  a  desire  of  rushing 
to  the  rescue  ;  but  was  forced  to  conclude,  that  he  provided  best  for  her 
safety  by  leaving  her  under  the  protection  of  Douglas's  honour. 

Young  Dickson,  in  the  meantime,  heaped  blow  on  blow,  seconding  with 
all  his  juvenile  courage  every  eifort  he  could  make,  in  order  to  attain  the 
prize  due  to  the  conqueror  of  the  renowned  De  Walton. 

“  Silly  boy,"  at  length  said  Sir  John,  who  had  for  some  time  forborne  the 
stripling,  “  take,  then,  thy  death  from  a  noble  hand,  since  thou  preferrest 
that  to  peace  and  length  of  days." 

“  I  care  not,"  said  the  Scottish  youth,  with  his  dying  breath  ;  “  I  have 
lived  long  enough,  since  I  have  kept  you  so  long  in  the  place  -where  you  now 
stand." 

And  the  youth  said  truly,  for  as  he  fell  never  again  to  rise,  the  Douglas 
stood  in  his  place,  and  without  a  word  spoken,  again  engaged  with  De  Walton 
in  the  same  formidable  single  combat,  by  which  they  had  already  been  dis¬ 
tinguished,  but  with  even  additional  fury.  Aymer  de  Valence  drew  up  to 
his  friend  De  Walton's  left  hand,  and  seemed  but  to  desire  the  apology  of 
one  of  Douglas's  people  attempting  to  second  him,  to  join  in  the  fray ;  but 
as  he  saw  no  person  who  seemed  disposed  to  give  him  such  opportunity,  he 
repressed  the  inclination,  and  remained  an  unwilling  spectator.  At  length 
it  seemed  as  if  Fleming,  who  stood  foremost  among  the  Scottish  knights, 
was  desirous  to  measure  his  sword  with  De  Valence.  Aymer  himself, 
burning  with  the  desire  of  combat,  at  last  called  out,  “Faithless  Knight  of 
Boghall !  step  forth  and  defend  yourself  against  the  imputation  of  having 
deserted  your  lady-love,  and  of  being  a  man-sworn  disgrace  to  the  rolls  of 
chivalry !" 

“My  answer,'^  said  Fleming,  “even  to  a  less  gross  taunt,  hangs  by  my 
side."  In  an  instant  his  sword  was  in  his  hand,  and  even  the  practised 
warriors  who  looked  on  felt  difficulty  in  discovering  the  progress  of  the  strife, 
which  rather  resembled  a  thunder  storm  in  a  mountainous  country  than  the 
stroke  and  parry  of  two  swords,  offending  on  the  one  side,  and  keeping  the 
defensive  on  the  other. 

Their  blows  were  exchanged  with  surprising  rapidity ;  and  although  the 
two  combatants  did  not  equal  Douglas  and  De  Walton  in  maintaining  a 
certain  degree  of  reserve,  founded  upon  a  respect  which  these  knights  mu¬ 
tually  entertained  for  each  other,  yet  the  want  of  art  was  supplied  by  a 
degree  of  fury,  which  gave  chance  at  least  an  equal  share  in  the  issue. 

Seeing  their  superiors  thus  desperately  engaged,  the  partisans,  as  they 
•were  accustomed,  stood  still  on  either  side,  and  looked  on  with  the  reve¬ 
rence  which  they  instinctively  paid  to  their  commanders  and  leaders  in 
arms.  One  or  two  of  the  women  were  in  the  meanwhile  attracted,  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  nature  of  the  sex,  by  compassion  for  those  who  had  already 
experienced  the  casualties  of  war.  Young  Dickson,  breathing  his  last 
among  the  feet  of  the  combatants,*  was  in  some  sort  rescued  from  the 
tumult  by  the  Lady  of  Berkely,  in  whom  the  action  seemed  less  strange, 
owing  to  the  pilgrim's  dress  which  she  still  retained,  and  who  in  vain  en¬ 
deavoured  to  solicit  the  attention  of  the  boy's  father  to  the  task  in  which 
she  was  engaged. 

“  Cumber  yourself  not,  lady,  about  that  which  is  bootless,"  said  old 


*  [The  fall  of  this  brave  stripling  by  the  hand  of  the  English  governor,  and  the  stern  heroism  of  the  father 
in  turning  from  the  spot  where  he  lay,  “a  model  of  beauty  and  strength,”  that  he  might  not  be  withdrawn 
from  the  duty  wliich  Douglas  had  assigned  him  of  protecting  the  Lady  of  Berkely,  excites  an  interest  for 
both,  with  which  it  is  almost  to  be  regretted  that  history  interferes.  It  was  the  old  man,  'I'homas  Dickson, 
not  his  son,  wlio  fell.  The  slogan,  “a  Douglas,  a  Douglas,”  having  been  prematurely  raised,  Dickson,  who 
was  within  the  cliurch,  thinking  that  his  young  Lord  with  his  armed  band  was  at  hand,  drew  his  sword, 
and  with  only  one  man  to  assist  him,  opposed  the  English,  who  now  rushed  to  the  door.  Cut  across  the 
middle  by  an  English  sword,  he  still  continued  liis  opposition,  till  he  fell  lifeless  at  the  tlireshold.  Such  is 
tradition,  and  it  is  supported  by  a  memorial  of  some  authority  — a  tonibstone.  still  to  be  seen  in  the  church¬ 
yard  of  Douglas,  on  which  is  sculptured  a  figure  of  Dickson,  supporting  with  his  left  arm  his  protruding 
entrails,  and  raising  his  sword  with  the  other  in  the  attitude  of  combat.] — Note  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Skwart,  of 
Douglas. 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


879 


Dickson,  “and  distract  not  your  own  attention  and  mine  from  preservinc; 
you,  whom  it  is  the  Douglas’s  wish  to  rescue,  and  whom,  so  please  Gud 
and  St.  Bride,  I  consider  as  placed  by  my  Chieftain  under  my  charge. 
Believe  me,  this  youth’s  death  is  in  no  way  forgotten,  though  tliis  be  not 
the  time  to  remember  it.  A  time  will  come  for  recollection,  and  an  hour 
for  revenge.” 

So  said  the  stern  old  man,  reverting  his  eyes  from  the  bloody  corpse 
which  lay  at  his  feet,  a  model  of  beauty  and  strength.  Having  taken  one 
more  anxious  look,  he  turned  round,  and  placed  himself  where  he  could 
best  protect  the  Lady  of  Berkely,  not  again  turning  his  eyes  on  his  son’s 
'  body. 

In  the  interim  the  combat  continued,  without  the  least  cessation  on  either 
side,  and  without  a  decided  advantage.  At  length,  however,  fate  seemed 
disposed  to  interfere ;  the  Knight  of  Fleming,  pushing  fiercely  forward,  and 
brought  by  chance  almost  close  to  the  person  of  the  Lady  Margaret  de 
Ilautlieu,  missed  his  blow,  and  his  foot  sliding  in  the  blood  of  the  young 
victim,  Dickson,  ho  fell  before  his  antagonist,  and  was  in  imminent  danger 
of  being  at  his  mercy,  when  Margaret  de  Ilautlieu,  who  inherited  the  soul 
of  a  warrior,  and,  besides,  was  a  very  strong,  as  well  as  an  undaunted 
person,  seeing  a  mace  of  no  great  weight  lying  on  the  floor,  where  it  had 
been  dropped  by  the  fallen  Dickson,  it,  at  the  same  instant,  caught  her  eye, 
armed  her  hand,  and  intercepted,  or  struck  down  the  sword  of  Sir  Aymer 
de  Valence,  who  would  otherwise  have  remained  the  master  of  the  day  at 
that  interesting  moment.  Fleming  had  more  to  do  to  avail  himself  of  an 
unexpected  chance  of  recovery,  than  to  make  a  commentary  upon  the 
manner  in  which  it  had  been  so  singularly  brought  about;  he  instantly 
recovered  the  advantage  he  had  lost,  and  was  able  in  the  ensuing  close  to 
trip  up  the  feet  of  his  antagonist,  who  fell  on  the  pavement,  Avhile  the  voice 
of  his  conqueror,  if  he  could  properly  be  termed  such,  resounded  through 
the  church  with  the  fatal  words,  “  Yield  thee,  Aymer  de  Valence — rescue  or 
no  rescue — yield  thee  ! — yield  ye !”  he  added,  as  he  placed  his  sword  to  the 
throat  of  the  fallen  knight,  “not  to  me,  but  to  this  noble  lady  —  rescue  or 
no  rescue.” 

With  a  heavy  heart  the  English  knight  perceived  that  he  had  lost  so 
favourable  an  opportunity  of  acquiring  fame,  and  was  obliged  to  submit  to 
his  destiny,  or  be  slain  upon  the  spot.  There  was  only  one  consolation, 
that  no  battle  was  ever  more  honourably  sustained,  being  gained  as  much 
by  accident  as  by  valour. 

The  fate  of  the  protracted  and  desperate  combat  between  Douglas  and 
De  Walton  did  not  much  longer  remain  in  suspense;  indeed,  the  number 
of  conquests  in  single  combat  achieved  by  the  Douglas  in  these  wars,  was 
so  great,  as  to  make  it  doubtful  whether  he  was  not,  in  personal  strength 
and  skill,  even  a  superior  knight  to  Bruce  himself,  and  he  was  at  least 
acknowledged  nearly  his  equal  in  the  art  of  war. 

So  however  it  was,  that  when  three  quarters  of  an  hour  had  passed  in 
hard  contest,  Douglas  and  De  Walton,  whose  nerves  were  not  actually  of 
iron,  began  to  show  some  signs  that  their  human  bodies  were  feeling  the 
efiect  of  the  dreadful  exertion.  Their  blows  began  to  be  drawn  more  slowly, 
and  were  parried  with  less  celerity.  Douglas,  seeing  that  the  combat  must 
soon  come  to  an  end,  generously  made  a  signal,  intimating  to  his  antagonist 
to  hold  his  hand  for  an  instant. 

“Brave  De  Walton,”  he  said,  “there  is  no  mortal  quarrel  between  us, 
and  you  must  be  sensible  that  in  this  passage  of  arms,  Douglas,  though  he 
is  only  worth  his  sword  and  his  cloak,  has  abstained  from  taking  a  decisive 
advantage  when  the  chance  of  arms  has  more  than  once  offered  it.  My 
father’s  house,  the  broad  domains  around  it,  the  dwelling,  and  the  graves 
of  my  ancestors,  form  a  reasonable  reward  for  a  knight  to  fight  for,  and 
call  upon  me  in  an  imperative  voice  the  prosecute  to  strife  which  has  such  an 


380 


WAVE  11  LEY  NOVELS. 


object,  while  you  are  as  welcome  to  the  noble  lady,  in  all  honour  and  safety, 
as  if  you  had  received  her  from  the  hands  of  King  Edward  himself;  and  I 
give  you  my  word,  that  the  utmost  honours  which  can  attend  a  prisoner, 
and  a  careful  absence  of  every  thing  like  injury  or  insult,  shall  attend  De 
Walton  when  he  yields  up  the  castle,  as  well  as  his  sword  to  James  of 
Douglas/^ 

“  It  is  the  fate  to  which  I  am  perhaps  doomed,^^  replied  Sir  John  de 
Walton;  “but  never  will  I  voluntarily  embrace  it,  and  never  shall  it  be 
said  that  my  own  tongue,  saving  in  the  last  extremity,  pronounced  upon  me 
the  fatal  sentence  to  sink  the  point  of  my  own  sword.  Pembroke  is  upon 
the  march  with  his  whole  army,  to  rescue  the  garrison  of  Douglas.  I  hear 
the  tramp  of  his  horse’s  feet  even  now ;  and  I  will  maintain  my  ground 
while  I  am  within  reach  of  support ;  nor  do  I  fear  that  the  breath  which 
now  begins  to  fail  will  not  last  long  enough  to  uphold  the  struggle  till  the 
arrival  of  the  expected  succour.  Come  on,  then,  and  treat  me  not  as  a 
child,  but  as  one  who,  whether  I  stand  or  fall,  fears  not  to  encounter  the 
utmost  force  of  my  knightly  antagonist.” 

“  So  be  it  then,”  said  Douglas,  a  darksome  hue,  like  the  lurid  colour  of 
the  thunder-cloud,  changing  his  brow  as  he  spoke,  intimating  that  he  medi¬ 
tated  a  speedy  end  to  the  contest,  when,  just  as  the  noise  of  horses’  feet 
drew  nigh,  a  Welsh  knight,  known  as  such  by  the  diminutive  size  of  his 
steed,  his  naked  limbs,  and  his  bloody  spear,  called  out  loudly  to  the  com¬ 
batants  to  hold  their  hands. 

“  Is  Pembroke  near?”  said  De  Walton. 

“  No  nearer  than  Loudon  Hill,”  said  the  Prestantin ;  “  but  I  bring  his 
commands  to  John  de  Walton.” 

“  I  stand  ready  to  obey  them  through  every  danger,”  answered  the 
knight. 

“  Woe  is  me,”  said  the  Welshman,  “  that  my  mouth  should  bring  to  the 
ears  of  so  brave  a  man  tidings  so  unwelcome !  The  Earl  of  Pembroke  yes¬ 
terday  received  information  that  the  castle  of  Douglas  was  attacked  by  the 
son  of  the  deceased  Earl,  and  the  whole  inhabitants  of  the  district.  Pem¬ 
broke,  on  hearing  this,  resolved  to  march  to  your  support,  noble  knight, 
with  all  the  forces  he  had  at  his  disposal.  He  did  so,  and  accordingly  en¬ 
tertained  every  assurance  of  relieving  the  castle,  when  unexpectedly  he  met, 
on  Loudon  Hill,  a  body  of  men  of  no  very  inferior  force  to  his  own,  and 
having  at  their  head  that  famous  Bruce  whom  the  Scottish  rebels  acknow¬ 
ledge  as  their  king.  He  marched  instantly  to  the  attack,  swearing  he  would 
not  even  draw  a  comb  through  his  grey  beard  until  he  had  rid  England  of 
his  recurring  plague.  But  the  fate  of  war  was  against  us.” 

He  stopt  here  for  lack  of  breath. 

“  I  thought  so  !”  exclaimed  Douglas.  “  Robert  Bruce  will  now  sleep  at 
night,  since  he  has  paid  home  Pembroke  for  the  slaughter  of  his  friends 
and  the  dispersion  of  his  army  at  Methuen  Wood.  His  men  are,  indeed, 
accustomed  to  meet  with  dangers,  and  to  conquer  them  :  those  who  follow’ 
him  have  been  trained  under  Wallace,  besides  being  partakers  of  the  perils 
of  Bruce  himself.  It  was  thought  that  the  waves  had  swallowed  them  when 
they  shipped  themselves  from  the  west ;  but  know,  that  the  Bruce  was  de¬ 
termined  with  the  present  reviving  spring  to  awaken  his  pretensions,  and 
that  he  retires  not  from  Scotland  again  while  he  lives,  and  while  a  single 
lord  remains  to  set  his  foot  by  his  sovereign,  in  spite  of  all  the  power  which 
has  been  so  feloniously  employed  against  him.” 

“It  is  even  too  true,”  said  the  Welshman  Meredith,  “  although  it  is  said 
by  a  proud  Scotchman.  —  The  Earl  of  Pembroke,  completely  defeated,  is 
unable  to  stir  from  Ayr,  towards  which  he  has  retreated  with  great  loss : 
and  he  sends  his  instructions  to  Sir  John  de  Walton,  to  make  the  best  terms 
he  can  for  the  surrender  of  the  Castle  of  Douglas,  and  trust  nothing  to  his 
support.” 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


381 


The  vSeottish,  who  heard  this  unexpected  news,  joined  in  a  sliout  so 
loud  and  energetic,  that  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  church  seemed  actually 
to  rock,  and  threaten  to  fall  on  the  heads  of  those  who  were  crowded 
within  it. 

The  brow  of  De  AValton  was  overclouded  at  the  news  of  Pembroke’s  de¬ 
feat,  although  in  some  respects  it  placed  him  at  liberty  to  take  measures  for 
the  safety  of  the  Lady  of  Berkely.  lie  could  not,  however,  claim  the  same 
honourable  terms  which  had  been  offered  to  him  by  Douglas  before  the 
news  of  the  battle  of  Loudon  Hill  had  arrived. 

“  Noble  knight,”  he  said,  “  it  is  entirely  at  your  pleasure  to  dictate  the 
terms  of  surrender  of  your  paternal  castle ;  nor  have  I  a  right  to  claim 
from  you  those  conditions  which,  a  little  while  since,  your  generosity  put 
in  my  offer.  But  I  submit  to  my  fate ;  and  upon  whatever  terms  you  think 
lit  to  grant  me,  I  must  be  content  to  offer  to  surrender  to  you  the  weapon, 
of  which  I  now  put  the  point  in  the  earth,  in  evidence  that  I  will  never 
more  direct  it  against  you  until  a  fair  ransom  shall  place  it  once  more  at 
my  own  disposal.” 

“God  forbid,”  answered  the  noble  James  of  Douglas,  “that  I  should  take 
such  advantage  of  the  bravest  knight  out  of  not  a  few  who  have  found  me 
work  in  battle !  I  will  take  example  from  the  Knight  of  Fleming,  who  has 
gallantly  bestowed  his  captive  in  guerdon  upon  a  noble  damsel  here  present ; 
and  in  like  manner  I  transfer  my  claim  upon  the  person  of  the  redoubted 
Knight  of  Walton,  to  the  high  and  noble  Lady  Augusta  Berkely,  who,  I 
hope,  will  not  scorn  to  accept  from  the  Douglas  a  gift  which  the  chance  of 
war  has  thrown  into  his  hands.” 

Sir  John  de  Walton,  on  hearing  this  unexpected  decision,  looked  up  like 
the  traveller  who  discovers  the  beams  of  the  sun  breaking  through  and  dis- 

Eersing  the  tempest  which  has  accompanied  him  for  a  whole  morning.  The 
lady  of  Berkely  recollected  what  became  her  rank,  and  showed  her  sense 
of  the  Douglas’s  chivalry.  Hastily  wiping  off  the  tears  which  had  unwill¬ 
ingly  flowed  to  her  eyes,  while  her  lover’s  safety  and  her  own  were  resting 
on  the  precarious  issue  of  a  desperate  combat,  she  assumed  the  look  proper 
to  a  heroine  of  that  age,  who  did  not  feel  averse  to  accept  the  importance 
which  was  conceded  to  her  by  the  general  voice  of  the  chivalry  of  the 
period.  Stepping  forward,  bearing  her  person  gracefully,  yet  modestly,  in 
the  attitude  of  a  lady  accustomed  to  be  looked  to  in  difficulties  like  the 
present,  she  addressed  the  audience  in  a  tone  which  might  not  have  misbe¬ 
come  the  Goddess  of  Battle  dispersing  her  influence  at  the  close  of  a  field 
covered  with  the  dead  and  the  dying. 

“  The  noble  Douglas,”  she  said,  “  shall  not  pass  without  a  prize  from  the 
field  which  he  has  so  nobly  won.  This  rich  string  of  brilliants,  which  my 
ancestor  won  from  the  Sultan  of  Trebisond,  itself  a  prize  of  battle,  will  bo 
honoured  by  sustaining,  under  the  Douglas’s  armour,  a  lock  of  hair  of  the 
fortunate  lady  whom  the  victorious  lord  has  adopted  for  his  guide  in 
chivalry ;  and  if  the  Douglas,  till  he  shall  adorn  it  with  that  lock,  will  per¬ 
mit  the  honoured  lock  of  hair  which  it  now  bears  to  retain  its  station,  she 
on  whose  head  it  grew  will  hold  it  as  a  signal  that  poor  Augusta  de  Berkely 
is  pardoned  for  having  gaged  any  mortal  man  in  strife  with  the  Knight  of 
Douglas.” 

“  Woman’s  love,”  replied  the  Douglas,  “  shalLnot  divorce  this  locket  from 
my  bosom,  which  I  will  keep  till  the  last  day  of  my  life,  as  emblematic  of 
female  worth  and  female  virtue.  And,  not  to  encroach  upon  the  valued  and 
honoured  province  of  Sir  John  de  Walton,  be  it  known  to  all  men,  that 
whoever  shall  say  that  the  Lady  Augusta  of  Berkely  has,  in  this  entangled 
matter,  acted  otherwise  than  becomes  the  noblest  of  her  sex,  he  will  do  well 
to  be  ready  to  maintain  such  a  proposition  with  his  lance,  against  James 
of  Douglas,  in  a  fair  field.” 

This  speech  was  heard  with  approbation  on  all  sides ;  and  the  news 


382  WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 

brought  by  Meredith  of  the  defeat  of  the  Earl  of  Pembroke,  and  his  subse¬ 
quent  retreat,  reconciled  the  fiercest  of  the  English  soldiers  to  the  surrender 
of  Douglas  Castle.  The  necessary  conditions  were  speedily  agreed  on, 
which  put  the  Scottish  in  possession  of  this  stronghold,  together  with  the 
stores,  both  of  arms  and  ammunition,  of  every  kind  which  it  contained. 
The  garrison  had  it  to  boast,  that  they  obtained  a  free  passage,  with  their 
horses  and  arms,  to  return  by  the  shortest  and  safest  route  to  the  marches 
of  England,  without  either  suffering  or  inflicting  damage. 

Margaret  of  Ilautlieu  was  not  behind  in  acting  a  generous  part ;  the 
gallant  Knight  of  Valence  was  allowed  to  accompany  his  friend  De  Walton 
and  the  Lady  Augusta  to  England,  and  without  ransom. 

The  venerable  prelate  of  Glasgow,  seeing  what  appeared  at  one  time 
likely  to  end  in  a  general  conflict,  terminate  so  auspiciously  for  his  country, 
contented  himself  with  bestowing  his  blessing  on  the  assembled  multitude, 
and  retiring  with  those  who  came  to  assist  in  the  service  of  the  day. 

This  surrender  of  Douglas  Castle  upon  the  Palm  Sunday  of  19th  March, 
1306-7,  was  the  beginning  of  a  career  of  conquest  which  was  uninterrupted, 
in  which  the  greater  part  of  the  strengths  and  fortresses  of  Scotland  were 
yielded  to  those  who  asserted  the  liberty  of  their  country,  until  the  crown¬ 
ing  mercy  was  gained  in  the  celebrated  field  of  Bannockburn,  where  the 
English  sustained  a  defeat  more  disastrous  than  is  mentioned  upon  any 
other  occasion  in  their  annals. 

Little  need  be  said  of  the  fate  of  the  persons  of  this  story.  King  Edward 
was  greatly  enraged  at  Sir  John  de  Walton  for  having  surrendered  the 
Castle  of  Douglas,  securing  at  the  same  time  his  own  object,  the  envied 
hand  of  the  heiress  of  Berkely.  The  knights  to  whom  he  referred  the 
matter  as  a  subject  of  enquiry,  gave  it  nevertheless  as  their  opinion  that  De 
Walton  was  void  of  all  censure,  having  discharged  his  duty  in  its  fullest 
extent,  till  the  commands  of  his  superior  officer  obliged  him  to  surrender 
the  Dangerous  Castle. 

A  singular  renewal  of  intercourse  took  place,  many  months  afterwards, 
between  Margaret  of  Ilautlieu  and  her  lover.  Sir  Malcolm  Fleming.  The 
use  which  the  lady  made  of  her  freedom,  and  of  the  doom  of  the  Scottish 
Parliament,  which  put  her  in  possession  of  her  father’s  inheritance,  was  to 
follow  her  adventurous  spirit  through  dangers  not  usually  encountered  by 
those  of  her  sex ;  and  the  Lady  of  Hautlieu  was  not  only  a  daring  follower 
of  the  chase,  but  it  was  said  that  she  was  even  not  daunted  in  the  battle¬ 
field.  She  remained  faithful  to  the  political  principles  which  she  had 
adopted  at  an  early  period ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  she  had  formed  the  gallant 
resolution  of  shaking  the  god  Cupid  from  her  horse’s  mane,  if  not  treading 
him  beneath  her  horse’s  feet. 

The  Fleming,  although  he  had  vanished  from  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
counties  of  Lanark  and  Ayr,  made  an  attempt  to  state  his  apology  to  the 
Lady  de  Ilautlieu  herself,  who  returned  his  letter  unopened,  and  remained 
to  all  appearance  resolved  never  again  to  enter  upon  the  topic  of  their 
original  engagement.  It  chanced,  however,  at  a  later  period  of  the  war 
with  England,  while  Fleming  was  one  night  travelling  upon  the  Border, 
after  the  ordinary  fashion  of  one  who  sought  adventures,  a  waiting-maid, 
equipped  in  a  fantastic  habit,  asked  the  protection  of  his  arm  in  the  name 
of  her  lady,  who,  late  in  tlip  evening,  had  been  made  captive,  she  said,  by 
certain  ill-disposed  caitifis,  who  were  carrying  her  by  force  through  the 
forest.  The  Fleming’s  lance  was,  of  course,  in  its  rest,  and  woe  betide  the 
faitour  whose  lot  it  was  to  encounter  its  thrust ;  the  first  fell,  incapable  of 
further  combat,  and  another  of  the  felons  encountered  the  same  fate  with 
little  more  resistance.  The  lady,  released  from  the  discourteous  cord  which 
restrained  her  liberty,  did  not  hesitate  to  join  company  with  the  brave 
knight  by  whom  she  had  been  rescued ;  and  although  the  darkness  did  not 
permit  her  to  recognise  her  old  lover  in  her  liberator,  yet  she  could  not  but 


CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


383 


lend  a  willing  ear  to  the  conversation  with  which  he  entertained  her,  as  they 
proceeded  on  the  way.  He  spoke  of  the  fallen  caitiffs  as  being  Englishmen, 
w'ho  found  a  pleasure  in  exercising  oppression  and  barbarities  upon  the 
wandering  damsels  of  Scotland,  and  whose  cause,  therefore,  the  champions 
of  that  country  were*  bound  to  avenge  while  the  blood  throbbed  in  their 
veins.  He  spoke  of  the  injustice  of  the  national  quarrel  which  had  afforded 
a  pretence  for  such  deliberate  oppression  ;  and  the  lady,  who  herself  had 
suffered  so  much  by  the  interference  of  the  English  in  the  affairs  of  Scot¬ 
land,  readily  acquiesced  in  the  sentiments  which  he  expressed  on  a  subject 
which  she  had  so  much  reason  for  regarding  as  an  afflicting  one.  Her 
answer  was  given  in  the  spirit  of  a  person  who  would  not  hesitate,  if  the 
times  should  call  for  such  an  example,  to  defend  even  with  her  hand  the 
rights  which  she  asserted  with  her  tongue. 

Pleased  with  the  sentiments  which  she  expressed,  and  recognising  in  her 
voice  that  secret  charm,  which,  once  impressed  upon  the  human  heart,  is 
rarely  wrought  out  of  the  remembrance  by  a  long  train  of  subsequent 
events,  he  almost  persuaded  himself  that  the  tones  were  familiar  to  him, 
and  had  at  one  time  formed  the  key  to  his  innermost  affections.  In  pro¬ 
ceeding  on  their  journey,  the  knight^s  troubled  state  of  mind  was  augmented 
instead  of  being  diminished.  The  scenes  of  his  earliest  youth  were  recalled 
by  circumstances  so  slight,  as  would  in  ordinary  cases  have  produced  no 
effect  whatever ;  the  sentiments  appeared  similar  to  those  which  his  life  had 
been  devoted  to  enforce,  and  he  half  persuaded  himself  that  the  dawn  of 
day  was  to  be  to  him  the  beginning  of  a  fortune  equally  singular  and  ex¬ 
traordinary. 

In  the  midst  of  this  anxiety.  Sir  Malcolm  Fleming  had  no  anticipation 
that  the  lady  whom  he  had  heretofore  rejected  was  again  thrown  into  his 
path,  after  years  of  absence ;  still  less,  when  daylight  gave  him  a  partial 
view  of  his  fflir  companion’s  countenance,  was  he  prepared  to  believe  that 
he  was  once  again  to  term  himself  the  champion  of  Margaret  de  Ilautlieu, 
but  it  was  so.  The  lady,  on  that  direful  morning  when  she  retired  from  the 
church  of  Douglas,  had  not  resolved  (indeed  what  lady  ever  did  ?)  to  re¬ 
nounce,  without  some  struggle,  the  beauties  which  she  had  once  possessed. 
A  long  process  of  time,  employed  under  skilful  hands,  had  succeeded  in 
obliterating  the  scars  which  remained  as  the  marks  of  her  fall.  These  were 
now  considerably  effaced,  and  the  lost  organ  of  sight  no  longer  appeared 
so  great  a  blemish,  concealed,  as  it  was,  by  a  black  ribbon,  and  the  arts. of 
the  tirewoman,  who  made  it  her  business  to  shadow  it  over  by  a  lock  of  hair. 
In  a  word,  he  saw  the  same  Margaret  de  Ilautlieu,  with  no  very  different 
style  of  expression  from  that  which  her  face,  partaking  of  the  high  and 
passionate  character  of  her  soul,  had  always  presented.  It  seemed  to  both, 
therefore,  that  their  fate,  by  bringing  them  together  after  a  separation  which 
appeared  so  decisive,  had  intimated  li&Jiat  that  their  fortunes  were  insepa¬ 
rable  from  each  other.  By  the  time  that  the  summer  sun  had  climbed  high 
in  the  heavens,  the  two  travellers  rode  apart  from  their  retinue,  conversing 
together  with  an  eagerness  which  marked  the  important  matters  of  discus¬ 
sion  between  them  ;  and  in  a  short  time  it  was  made  generally  known 
through  Scotland,  that  Sir  Malcolm  Fleming  and  the  Lady  Margaret  de 
Ilautlieu  were  to  be  united  at  the  court  of  the  good  King  Robert,  and  the 
husband  invested  with  the  honours  of  Biggar  and  Cumbernauld,  an  earldom 
so  long  known  in  the  family  of  Fleming. 

The  gentle  reader  is  acquainted,  that  these  are,  in  all  probability,  the  last 
tales  wliich  it  will  be  the  lot  of  the  Author  to  submit  to  the  public.  He  is 
now  on  the  eve  of  visiting  foreign  parts;  a  ship  of  war  is  commissioned  by 
its  Royal  Master  to  carry  the  Author  of  Waverley  to  climates  in  which  he 
may  possibly  obtain  such  a  restoration  of  health  as  may  serve  him  to  spin 
his  thread  to  an  end  in  his  owm  country.  Had  he  continued  to  prosecute 


384 


WAVERLE-Y  NOVELS. 


his  usual  literary  labours,  it  seems  indeed  probable,  that  at  the  term  of 
years  he  has  already  attained,  the  bowl,  to  use  the  pathetic  language  of 
Scripture,  would  have  been  broken  at  the  fountain  ;  and  little  can  one,  who 
has  enjoyed  on  the  whole  an  uncommon  share  of  the  most  inestimable  of 
worldly  blessings,  be  entitled  to  complain,  that  life,  advancing  to  its  period, 
should  be  attended  with  its  usual  proportions  of  shadows  and  storms. 
They  have  affected  him  at  least  in  no  more  painful  manner  than  is  insepa¬ 
rable  from  the  discharge  of  this  part  of  the  debt  of  humanity.  Of  those 
whose  relation  to  him  in  the  ranks  of  life  might  have  ensured  him  their 
sympathy  under  indisposition,  many  are  now  no  more ;  and  those  who  may 
yet  follow  in  his  wake,  are  entitled  to  expect,  in  bearing  inevitable  evils,  an 
example  of  firmness  and  patience,  more  especially  on  the  part  of  one  who 
has  enjoyed  no  small  good  fortune  during  the  course  of  his  pilgrimage. 

The  public  have  claims  on  his  gratitude,  for  which  the  Author  of  Waverley 
has  no  adequate  means  of  expression  ;  but  he  may  be  permitted  to  hope,  that 
the  powers  of  his  mind,  such  as  they  are,  may  not  have  a  different  date 
from  those  of  his  body  ;  and  that  he  may  again  meet  his  patronising  friends, 
if  not  exactly  in  his  old  fashion  of  literature,  at  least  in  some  branch, 
which  may  not  call  forth  the  remark,  that — 

“Superfluous  lags  the  veteran  on  the  stage.” 

Abbotsford,  September,  1831. 


END  OF  CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET’S  MIRROR. 


INTRODUCTION.  —  (1831.) 

The  species  of  publication  which  has  come  to  be  generally  known  by  the 
title  of  Annual,  being  a  miscellany  of  prose  and  verse,  equipped  with  nume¬ 
rous  engravings,  and  put  forth  every  year  about  Christmas,  had  flourished 
for  a  long  while  in  Germany,  before  it  was  imitated  in  this  country  by  an 
enterprising  bookseller,  a  German  by  birth,  Mr.  Ackermann.  The  rapid 
success  of  his  work,  as  is  the  custom  of  the  time,  gave  birth  to  a  host  of 
rivals,  and,  among  others,  to  an  Annual  styled  The  Keepsake,  the  first 
volume  of  which  appeared  in  1828,  and  attracted  much  notice,  chiefly  in 
consequence  of  the  very  uncommon  splendour  of  its  illustrative  accompani¬ 
ments.  The  expenditure  which  the  spirited  proprietors  lavished  on  this 
magnificent  volume,  is  understood  to  have  been  not  less  than  from  ten  to 
twelve  thousand  pounds  sterling ! 

Various  gentlemen,  of  such  literary  reputation  that  any  one  might  think 
it  an  honour  to  be  associated  with  them,  had  been  announced  as  contribu¬ 
tors  to  this  Annual,  before  application  was  made  to  me  to  assist  in  it;  and 
I  accordingly  placed  with  much  pleasure  at  the  Editor’s  disposal  a  few  frag¬ 
ments,  originally  designed  to  have  been  worked  into  the  Chronicles  of  the 
Canongate,  besides  a  MS.  Drama,  the  long-neglected  performance  of  my 
youthful  days, — the  House  of  Aspen. 

The  Keepsake  for  1828  included,  however,  only  three  of  these  little  prose 
tales  —  of  which  the  first  in  order  was  that  entitled  “  My  Aunt  Margaret’s 
Mirror.’^  By  way  of  introduction  to  this,  when  now  included  in  a  general 
collection  of  my  lucubrations,  I  have  only  to  say  that  it  is  a  mere  transcript, 
or  at  least  with  very  little  embellishment,  of  a  story  that  I  remembered 
being  struck  with  in  my  childhood,  when  told  at  the  fireside  by  a  lady  of 
eminent  virtues,  and  no  inconsiderable  share  of  talent,  one  of  the  ancient 
and  honourable  house  of  Swinton.  She  was  a  kind  relation  of  my  own,  and 
met  her  death  in  a  manner  so  shocking,  being  killed  in  a  fit  of  insanity  by 
a  female  attendant  who  had  been  attached  to  her  person  for  half  a  lifetime, 
that  I  cannot  now  recall  her  memory,  child  as  I  was  when  the  catastrophe 
occurred,  without  a  painful  reawakening  of  perhaps  the  first  images  of 
horror  that  the  scenes  of  real  life  stamped  on  my  mind. 

This  good  spinster  had  in  her  composition  a  strong  vein  of  the  supersti¬ 
tious,  and  was  pleased,  among  other  fancies,  to  read  alone  in  her  chamber 
by  a  taper  fixed  in  a  candlestick  which  she  had  formed  out  of  a  human 
skull.  One  night,  this  strange  piece  of  furniture  acquired  suddenly  the 
power  of  locomotion,  and,  after  performing  some  odd  circles  on  her  chimney- 
piece,  fairly  leaped  on  the  floor,  and  continued  to  roll  about  the  apartment. 
Mrs.  Swinton  calmly  proceeded  to  the  adjoining  room  for  another  light,  and 
had  the  satisfaction  to  penetrate  the  mystery  on  the  spot.  Rats  abounded 
in  the  ancient  building  she  inhabited,  and  one  of  these  had  managed  to 
VoL.  XII.— 25  2n  (385) 


386 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


ensconce  itself  within  her  favourite  memento  mori.  Though  thus  endowe  1 
with  a  more  than  feminine  share  of  nerve,  she  entertained  largely  that 
belief  in  supernaturals,  which  in  those  times  was  not  considered  as  sitting 
ungracefully  on  the  grave  and  aged  of  her  condition ;  and  the  story  of  the 
Magic  Mirror  was  one  for  which  she  vouched  with  particular  confidence, 
alleging  indeed  that  one  of  her  own  family  had  been  an  eye-witness  of  the 
incidents  recorded  in  it. 

“I  tell  the  tale  as  it  was  told  to  me.” 

» 

Stories  enow  of  much  the  same  cast  will  present  themselves  to  the  recol¬ 
lection  of  such  of  my  readers  as  have  ever  dabbled  in  a  species  of  lore  to 
which  I  certainly  gave  more  hours,  at  one  period  of  my  life,  than  I  should 
gain  any  credit  by  confessing. 

August,  1831. 


MY  AUNT  MAIIGARET’S  MIRROR. 


“  There  are  times 

When  Fancy  plays  her  gainbols,  in  despite- 
Even  of  our  watchful  senses,  when  in  sooth 
Substance  seems  shadow,  shadow  substance  seems. 
When  the  broad,  palpable,  and  mark’d  partition, 


’Twiit  that  which  is  and  is  not,  seems  dissolved. 
As  if  the  mental  eye  gain’d  power  to  gaze 
Beyond  the  limits  of  the  existing  world. 

Such  hours  of  shadowy  dreams  I  better  love 
Than  all  the  gross  realities  of  life.” 

Anonymous. 


My  Aunt  Margaret  was  one  of  that  respected  sisterhood,  upon  whom 
devolve  all  the  trouble  and  solicitude  incidental  to  the  possession  of  children, 
excepting  only  that  which  attends  their  entrance  into  the  world.  We  were  a 
large  family,  of  very  different  dispositions  and  constitutions.  Some  were 
dull  and  peevish  —  they  were  sent  to  Aunt  Margaret  to  be  amused ;  some 
w’ere  rude,  romping,  and  boisterous  —  they  were  sent  to  Aunt  Margaret  to 
be  kept  quiet,  or  rather  that  their  noise  might  be  removed  out  of  hearing ; 
those  who  were  indisposed  were  sent  with  the  prospect  of  being  nursed  — 
those  who  were  stubborn,  with  the  hope  of  their  being  subdued  by  the 
kindness  of  Aunt  Margaret’s  discipline ;  in  short,  she  had  all  the  various 
duties  of  a  mother,  without  the  credit  and  dignity  of  the  maternal  charac¬ 
ter.  The  busy  scene  of  her  various  cares  is  now  over — of  the  invalids  and 
the  robust,  the  kind  and  the  rough,  the  peevish  and  pleased  children,  who 
thronged  her  little  parlour  from  morning  to  night,  not  one  now  remains 
alive  but  myself;  who,  afflicted  by  early  infirmity,  was  one  of  the  most  de¬ 
licate  of  her  nurslings,  yet  nevertheless,  have  outlived  them  all. 

It  is  still  my  custom,  and  shall  be  so  while  I  have  the  use  of  my  limbs, 
to  visit  my  respected  relation  at  least  three  times  a-week.  Her  abode  is 
about  half  a  mile  from  the  suburbs  of  the  town  in  which  I  reside ;  and  is 
accessible,  not  only  by  the  high-road,  from  which  it  stands  at  some  dis¬ 
tance,  but  by  means  of  a  greensward  footpath,  leading  through  some  pretty 
meadows.  I  have  so  little  left  to  torment  me  in  life,  that  it  is  one  of  my 
greatest  vexations  to  know  that  several  of  these  sequestered  fields  have 
been  devoted  as  sites  for  building.  In  that  which  is  nearest  the  town, 
wheelbarrows  have  been  at  work  for  several  weeks  in  such  numbers,  that,  I 
verily  believe,  its  whole  surface,  to  the  depth  of  at  least  eighteen  inches, 
was  mounted  in  these  monotrochs  at  the  same  moment,  and  in  the  act  of 
being  transported  from  one  place  to  another.  Huge  triangular  piles  of 
planks  are  also  reared  in  different  parts  of  the  devoted  messuage ;  and  a 
little  group  of  trees,  that  still  grace  the  eastern  end,  which  rises  in  a  gentle 
ascend  have  just  received  warning  to  quit,  expressed  by  a  daub  of  white 
paint,  and  are  to  give  place  to  a  curious  grove  of  chimneys. 

It  would,  perhaps,  hurt  others  in  my  situation  to  reflect  that  this  little 
range  of  pasturage  once  belonged  to  my  father,  (whose  family  was  of  some 
consideration  in  the  world,)  and  was  sold  by  patches  to  remedy  distresses 
in  which  he  involved  himself  in  an  attempt  by  commercial  adventure  to 
redeem  his  diminished  fortune.  While  the  building  scheme  was  in  full 

(387) 


388 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


operation,  this  circumstance  was  often  pointed  out  to  me  by  the  class  of 
friends  who  are  anxious  that  no  part  of  your  misfortunes  should  escape 
your  observation.  “  Such  pasture-ground  ! — lying  at  the  very  town’s  end — 
in  turnips  and  potatoes,  the  parks  would  bring  20Z.  per  acre,  and  if  leased 
for  building — Oh,  it  was  a  gold  mine ! — And  all  sold  for  an  old  song  out  of 
the  ancient  possessor’s  hands  !”  My  comforters  cannot  bring  me  to  repine 
much  on  this  subject.  If  I  could  be  allowed  to  look  back  on  the  past  with¬ 
out  interruption,  I  could  willingly  give  up  the  enjoyment  of  present  income, 
and  the  hope  of  future  profit,  to  those  who  have  purchased  what  my  father 
sold.  I  regret  the  alteration  of  the  ground  only  because  it  destroys  asso¬ 
ciations,  and  I  would  more  willingly  (I  think)  see  the  Earl’s  Closes  in  the 
hands  of  strangers,  retaining  their  silvan  appearance,  than  know  them  for 
my  own,  if  torn  up  by  agriculture,  or  covered  with  buildings.  Mine  are 
the  sensations  of  poor  Logan : 

“The  horrid  plough  has  rased  the  green 
Where  yet  a  child  1  stray’d  ; 

The  axe  has  fell’d  the  hawthorn  screen, 

I'he  schoolboy’s  summer  shade.” 

I  hope,  however,  the  threatened  devastation  will  not  be  consummated  in 
my  day.  Although  the  adventurous  spirit  of  times  short  while  since  passed 
gave  rise  to  the  undertaking,  I  have  been  encouraged  to  think,  that  the  sub¬ 
sequent  changes  have  so  far  damped  the  spirit  of  speculation,  that  the  rest 
of  the  woodland  footpath  leading  to  Aunt  Margaret’s  retreat  will  be  left 
undisturbed  for  her  time  and  mine.  I  am  interested  in  this,  for  every  step 
of  the  way,  after  I  have  passed  through  the  green  already  mentioned,  has 
for  me  something  of  early  remembrance  : — There  is  the  stile  at  which  I  can 
recollect  a  cross  child’s-maid  upbraiding  me  with  my  infirmity,  as  she  lifted 
me  coarsely  and  carelessly  over  the  flinty  steps,  which  my  brothers  traversed 
wdth  shout  and  bound.  I  remember  the  suppressed  bitterness  of  the  mo¬ 
ment,  and,  conscious  of  my  own  inferiority,  the  feeling  of  envy  with  which 
I  regarded  the  easy  movements  and  elastic  steps  of  my  more  happily  formed 
brethren.  Alas  !  these  goodly  barks  have  all  perished  on  life’s  wide  ocean, 
and  only  that  M'hich  seemed  so  little  seaworthy,  as  the  naval  phrase  goes, 
has  reached  the  port  when  the  tempest  is  over.  Then  there  is  the  pool, 
where,  manoeuvring  our  little  navy,  constructed  out  of  the  broad  water 
flags,  my  elder  brother  fell  in,  and  was  scarce  saved  from  the  w^atery 
element  to  die  under  Nelson’s  banner.  There  is  the  hazel  copse  also,  in 
which  my  brother  Henry  used  to  gather  nuts,  thinking  little  that  he  was  to 
die  in  an  Indian  jungle  m  quest  of  rupees. 

There  is  so  much  more  of  remembrance  about  the  little  walk,  that — as  I 
stop,  rest  on  my  crutch-headed  cane,  and  look  round  with  that  species  of 
comparison  between  the  thing  I  was  and  that  which  I  now  am  —  it  almost 
induces  me  to  doubt  my  own  identity ;  until  I  find  myself  in  face  of  the 
honeysuckle  porch  of  Aunt  Margaret’s  dwelling,  with  its  irregularity  of 
front,  and  its  odd  projecting  latticed  windows ;  where  the  workmen  seem 
to  have  made  a  study  that  no  one  of  them  should  resemble  another,  in  form, 
size,  or  in  the  old-fashioned  stone  entablature  and  labels  which  adorn  them. 
This  tenement,  once  the  manor-house  of  Earl’s  Closes,  we  still  retain  a 
slight  hold  upon ;  for,  in  some  family  arrangements,  it  had  been  settled 
upon  Aunt  Margaret  during  the  term  of  her  life.  Upon  this  frail  tenure 
depends,  in  a  great  measure,  the  last  shadow  of  the  family  of  Bothwell  of 
Earl’s  Closes,  and  their  last  slight  connection  with  their  paternal  inherit¬ 
ance.  The  only  representative  will  then  be  an  infirm  old  man,  moving  not 
unwillingly  to  the  grave,  which  has  devoured  all  that  were  dear  to  his 
affections. 

When  I  have  indulged  such  thoughts  for  a  minute  or  two,  I  enter  the 
mansion,  which  is  said  to  have  been  the  gatehouse  only  of  the  original 
building,  and  find  one  being  on  whom  time  seems  to  have  made  little  im- 


liY  AUNT  MAUGARET’S  JIIRROR. 


889 


pression  ;  for  the  Aunt  Margaret  of  to-day  bearvS  the  same  proportional  age 
to  the  Aunt  Margaret  of  my  early  youth,  that  the  hoy  of  ten  years  old  does 
to  the  man  of  (by’r  Lady!)  some  fifty-six  years.  The  old  lady’s  invariable 
costume  has  doubtless  some  share  in  confirming  one  in  the  opinion,  that 
time  has  stood  still  with  Aunt  Margaret. 

The  brown  or  chocolate-coloured  silk  gown,  with  ruffles  of  the  same  stuff 
at  the  elbow,  within  which  are  others  of  Mechlin  lace — the  black  silk  gloves, 
or  mitts,  the  white  hair  combed  back  upon  a  roll,  and  the  cap  of  spotless 
cambric,  which  closes  around  the  venerable  countenance,  as  they  were  not 
the  costume  of  1780,  so  neither  were  they  that  of  1826  ;  they  are  altogether 
a  style  peculiar  to  the  individual  Aunt  Margaret.  There  she  still  sits,  as 
she  sat  thirty  years  since,  with  her  wheel  or  the  stocking,  which  she  works 
by  the  fire  in  winter,  and  by  the  window  in  summer ;  or,  perhaps,  venturing 
as  far  as  the  porch  in  an  unusually  fine  summer  evening.  Her  frame,  like 
some  well-constructed  piece  of  mechanics,  still  performs  the  operations  for 
which  it  had  seemed  destined ;  going  its  round  with  an  activity  which  is 
gradually  diminished,  yet  indicating  no  probability  that  it  will  soon  come 
to  a  period. 

The  solicitude  and  affection  which  had  made  Aunt  Margaret  the  willing 
slave  to  the  inflictions  of' a  whole  nursery,  have  now  for  their  object  the 
health  and  comfort  of  one  old  and  infirm  man,  the  last  remaining  relative 
of  her  family,  and  the  only  one  who  can  still  find  interest  in  the  traditional 
stores  w'hich  she  hoards  as  some  miser  hides  the  gold  which  he  desires  that 
no  one  should  enjoy  after  his  death. 

My  conversation  with  Aunt  Margaret  generally  relates  little  either  to  the 
present  or  to  the  future :  for  the  passing  day  we  possess  as  much  as  we 
require,  and  we  neither  of  us  wish  for  more ;  and  for  that  which  is  to  fol¬ 
low  we  have  on  this  side  of  the  grave  neither  hopes,  nor  fears,  nor  anxiety. 
"NV  e  therefore  naturally  look  back  to  the  past ;  and  forget  the  present  fallen 
fortunes  and  declined  importance  of  our  family,  in  recalling  the  hours  when 
it  was  wealthy  and  prosperous. 

With  this  slight  introduction,  the  reader  will  know  as  much  of  Aunt 
Margaret  and  her  nephew  as  is  necessary  to  comprehend  the  following  con¬ 
versation  and  narrative. 

Last  week,  when,  late  in  a  summer  evening,  I  went  to  call  on  the  old  lady 
to  whom  my  reader  is  now  introduced,  I  was  received  by  her  with  all  her 
usual  affection  and  benignity  ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  she  seemed  abstracted 
and  disposed  to  silence.  I  asked  her  the  reason.  “  They  have  been  clear¬ 
ing  out  the  old  chapel,”  she  said;  “John  Clayhudgeons  having,  it  seems, 
discovered  that  the  stuff  -within — being,  I  suppose,  the  remains  of  our 
ancestors  —  was  excellent  for  top-dressing  the  meadows.” 

Here  1  started  up  with  more  alacrity  than  I  have  displayed  for  some 
years ;  but  sat  down  while  my  aunt  added,  laying  her  hand  upon  my  sleeve, 
“The  chapel  has  been  long  considered  as  common  ground,  my  dear,  and 
used  for  a  penfold,  and  what  objection  can  we  have  to  the  man  for  employ¬ 
ing  what  is  his  own,  to  his  own  profit?  Besides,  I  did  speak  to  him,  and 
he  very  readily  and  civilly  promised,  that,  if  he  found  bones  or  monuments, 
they  should  be  carefully  respected  and  reinstated ;  and  what  more  could  I 
ask  ?  So,  the  first  stone  they  found  bore  the  name  of  Margaret  Bothwcll, 
1585,  and  I  have  caused  it  to  be  laid  carefully  aside,  as  I  think  it  betokens 
death ;  and  having  served  my  namesake  two  hundred  years,  it  has  just  been 
cast  up  in  time  to  do  me  the  same  good  turn.  My  house  has  been  long  put 
in  order,  as  far  as  the  small  earthly  concerns  require  it,  but  who  shall  say 
that  their  account  with  Heaven  is  sufficiently  revised?” 

“After  what  you  have  said,  aunt,”  I  replied,  “perhaps  I  ought  to  take 
my  hat  and  go  away,  and  so  I  should,  but  that  there  is  on  this  occasion  a 
little  alloy  mingled  with  our  devotion.  To  think  of  death  at  all  times  is  a 
duty  —  to  suppose  it  nearer,  from  the  finding  of  an  old  gravestone,  is  super- 

2n2 


390 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


stition  ;  and  you,  with  your  strong  useful  common  sense,  which  was  so  long 
the  prop  of  a  fallen  family,  are  the  last  person  whom  I  should  have  suspected 
of  such  weakn-ess.” 

“  Neither  would  I  have  deserved  your  suspicions,  kinsman,’’  answered 
Aunt  Margaret^  “  if  we  w'ere  speaking  of  any  incident  occurring  in  the 
actual  business  of  human  life.  But  for  all  this  I  have  a  sense  of  supersti¬ 
tion  about  me,  which  I  do  not  wish  to  part  with.  It  is  a  feeling  which 
separates  me  from  this  age,  and  links  me  with  that  to  which  I  am  hastening  ; 
and  even  when  it  seems,  as  now,  to  lead  me  to  the  brink  of  the  grave,  and 
bids  me  gaze  on  it,  I  do  not  love  that  it  should  be  dispelled.  It  soothes  my 
imagination,  without  influencing  my  reason  or  conduct.” 

“I  profess,  my  good  lady,”  replied  I,  “  that  had  any  one  but  you  made 
such  a  declaration,  I  should  have  thought  it  as  capricious  as  that  of  the 
clergyman,  who,  without  vindicating  his  false  reading,  preferred,  from 
habit’s  sake,  his  old  Mumpsimus  to  the  modern  Sumpsimus.” 

“Well,”  answered  my  aunt,  “I  must  explain  my  inconsistency  in  this 
particular,  by  comparing  it  to  another.  I  am,  as  you  know,  a  piece  of  that 
old-fashioned  thing  called  a  Jacobite  ;  but  I  am  so  in  sentiment  and  feeling 
only  ;  for  a  more  loyal  subject  never  joined  in  prayers,  for  the  health  and 
wealth  of  George  the  Fourth,  whom  God  long  preserve !  But  I  dare  say 
that  kind-hearted  sovereign  would  not  deem  that  an  old  woman  did  him 
much  injury  if  she  leaned  back  in  her  arm-chair,  just  in  such  a  twilight  as 
this,  and  thought  of  the  high-mettled  men,  whose  sense  of  duty  called  them 
to  arms  against  his  grandfather ;  and  how,  in  a  cause  which  they  deemed 
that  of  their  rightful  prince  and  country, 

‘They  fought  till  their  hands  to  the  broadsword  were  glued, 

They  fought  against  fortune  with  hearts  unsubdued.’ 

Do  not  come  at  such  a  moment,  when  my  head  is  full  of  plaids,  pibrochs, 
and  claymores,  and  ask  my  reason  to  admit  what,  I  am  afraid,  it  cannot 
deny — I  mean,  that  the  public  advantage  peremptorily  demanded  that  these 
things  should  cease  to  exist.  I  cannot,  indeed,  refuse  to  allow  the  justice 
of  your  reasoning ;  but  yet,  being  convinced  against  my  will,  you  will  gain 
little  by  your  motion.  You  might  as  well  read  to  an  infatuated  lover  the 
catalogue  of  his  mistress’s  imperfections ;  for,  when  he  has  been  compelled 
to  listen  to  the  summary,  you  will  only  get  for  answer,  that,  ‘  he  lo’es  her 
a’  the  better.’  ” 

I  was  not  sorry  to  have  changed  the  gloomy  train  of  Aunt  Margaret’s 
thoughts,  and  replied  in  the  same  tone,  “  Well,  I  can’t  help  being  persuaded 
that  our  good  king  is  the  more  sure  of  Mrs.  Both  well’s  loyal  affection,  that 
he  has  the  Stuart  right  of  birth,  as  well  as  the  Act  of  Succession  in  his 
favour.” 

“  Perhaps  my  attachment,  were  its  source  of  consequence,  might  be  found 
warmer  for  the  union  of  the  rights  you  mention,”  said  Aunt  Margaret; 

“  but,  upon  my  word,  it  would  be  as  sincere  if  the  king’s  right  were  founded 
only  on  the  will  of  the  nation,  as  declared  at  the  Revolution.  I  am  none  of 
your  jure  divino  folk.” 

“And  a  Jacobite  notwithstanding.” 

“  And  a  Jacobite  notwithstanding ;  or  rather,  I  will  give  you  leave  to  call  . 
me  one  of  the  party  which,  in  Queen  Anne’s  time,  were  called  WJiimsicals  ; 
because  they  were  sometimes  operated  upon  by  feelings,  sometimes  by  prin¬ 
ciple.  After  all,  it  is  very  hard  that  you  will  not  allow  an  old  woman  to 
be  as  inconsistent  in  her  political  sentiments,  as  mankind  in  general  show 
themselves  in  all  the  various  courses  of  life ;  since  you  cannot  point  out  one 
of  them,  in  which  the  passions  and  prejudices  of  those  who  pursue  it  are 
not  perpetually  carrying  us  away  from  the  path  which  our  reason  points  out.” 

“  True,  aunt ;  but  you  are  a  wilful  wanderer,  who  should  be  forced  back 
into  the  right  path.” 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET’S  MIRROR.  391 

“  Spare  me,  I  entreat  you,^’  replied  Aunt  Margaret.  “  You  remember 
the  Gmlic  song,  though  I  dare  say  I  mispronounce  the  words — 

‘  Hatil  mohatil,  na  dowski  mi.’ 

‘I  am  asleep,  do  not  waken  me.’ 

I  tell  you,  kinsman,  that  the  sort  of  waking  dreams  which  my  imagination 
spins  out,  in  what  your  hivourite  Wordsworth  calls  ‘moods  of  my  own 
mind,’  are  worth  all  the  rest  of  my  more  active  days.  Then,  instead  of 
looking  forwards  as  I  did  in  youth,  and  forming  for  myself  fairy  palaces, 
upon  the  verge  of  the  grave,  I  turn  my  eyes  backward  upon  the  days  and 
manners  of  my  better  time  ;  and  the  sad,  yet  soothing  recollections  come  so 
close  and  interesting,  that  I  almost  think  it  sacrilege  to  be  wiser,  or  more 
rational,  or  less  prejudiced,  than  those  to  whom  I  looked  up  in  my  younger 
years.” 

“  I  think  I  now  understand  what  you  mean,”  I  answered,  “  and  can  com¬ 
prehend  why  you  should  occasionally  prefer  the  twilight  of  illusion  to  the 
steady  light  of  reason.” 

“  Where  there  is  no  task,”  she  rejoined,  “  to  bo  performed,  we  may  sit  in 
the  dark  if  we  like  it  —  if  we  go  to  work,  we  must  ring  for  candles.” 

“  And  amidst  such  shadowy  and  doubtful  light,”  continued  I,  “  imagina¬ 
tion  frames  her  enchanted  and  enchanting  visions,  and  sometimes  passes 
them  upon  the  senses  for  reality.” 

“  Yes,”  said  Aunt  Margaret,  who  is  a  well-read  woman,  “  to  those  who 
resemble  the  translator  of  Tasso, 

‘  Prevailing  poet,  whose  undoubting  mind 
Believed  the  ma^ic  wonders  whicn  he  sung.’ 

It  is  not  required  for  this  purpose,  that  you  should  be  sensible  of  the  pain¬ 
ful  horrors  which  an  actual  belief  in  such  prodigies  inflicts  —  such  a  belief, 
now-a-days,  belongs  only  to  fools  and  children.  It  is  not  necessary  that  your 
ears  should  tingle,  and  your  complexion  change,  like  that  of  Theodore,  at 
the  approach  of  the  spectral  huntsman.  All  that  is  indispensable  for  the 
enjoyment  of  the  milder  feeling  of  supernatural  awe  is,  that  you  should  be 
susceptible  of  the  slight  shuddering  which  creeps  over  you  when  you  hear 
a  tale  of  terror  —  that  well-vouched  tale  which  the  narrator,  having  first 
expressed  his  general  disbelief  of  all  such  legendary  lore,  selects  and  pro¬ 
duces,  as  having  something  in  it  which  he  has  been  always  obliged  to  give 
up  as  inexplicable.  Another  symptom  is,  a  momentary  hesitation  to  look 
round  you,  when  the  interest  of  the  narrative  is  at  the  highest ;  and  the 
third,  a  desire  to  avoid  looking  into  a  mirror,  when  you  are  alone,  in  your 
chamber,  for  the  evening.  I  mean  such  are  signs  Avhich  indicate  the  crisis, 
when  a  female  imagination  is  in  due  temperature  to  enjoy  a  ghost  story.  I 
do  not  pretend  to  describe  those  which  express  the  same  disposition  in  a 
gentleman.” 

“  This  last  symptom,  dear  aunt,  of  shunning  the  mirror,  seems  likely  to 
be  a  rare  occurrence  amongst  the  fair  sex.” 

“  You  are  a  novice  in  toilet  fashions,  my  dear  kinsman.  All  women  con¬ 
sult  the  looking-glass  with  anxiety  before  they  go  into  company ;  but  when 
they  return  home,  the  mirror  has  not  the  same  charm.  The  die  has  been 
cast — the  party  has  been  successful  or  unsuccessful,  in  the  impression  which 
she  desired  to  make.  But,  without  going  deeper  into  the  mysteries  of  the 
dressing-table,  I  will  tell  you  that  I  myself,  like  many  other  honest  folk,  do  not 
like  to  see  the  blank  black  front  of  a  large  mirror  in  a  room  dimly  lighted, 
and  where  the  reflection  of  the  candle  seems  rather  to  lose  itself  in  the  deep 
obscurity  of  the  glass,  than  to  be  reflected  back  again  into  the  apartment. 
That  space  of  inky  darkness  seems  to  be  a  field  for  Fancy  to  play  her  revels 
in.  She  may  call  up  other  features  to  meet  us,  instead  of  the  reflection  of 
our  own  ;  or,  as  in  the  spells  of  Hallowe’en,  which  we  learned  in  childhood, 
some  unknown  form  may  be  seen  peeping  over  our  shoulder,  in  short, 


392 


W  AVER  LEY  NOVELS. 


when  I  am  in  a  ghost-seeing  humour,  I  make  my  handmaiden  draw  the 
green  curtains  over  the  mirror,  before  I  go  into  the  room,  so  that  she  may 
have  the  first  shock  of  the  apparition,  if  there  be  any  to  be  seen.  But,  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  this  dislike  to  look  into  a  mirror  in  particular  times  and 
places,  has,  I  believe,  its  original  foundation  in  a  story  which  came  to  me 
by  tradition  from  my  grandmother,  who  was  a  party  concerned  in  the  scene 
of  which  I  will  now  tell  you.’^ 


THE  MIRROR. 


C|]nptir  tilt  l^irst. 

You  are  fond  (said  my  aunt)  of  sketches  of  the  society  which  has  passed 
away.  I  v/ish  I  could  describe  to  you  Sir  Philip  Forester,  the  “  chartered 
libertine’^  of  Scottish  good  company,  about  the  end  of  the  last  century.  I  never 
saw  him  indeed ;  but  my  mother’s  traditions  were  full  of  his  wit,  gallantry 
and  dissipation.  This  gay  knight  flourished  about  the  end  of  the  17th  and 
beginning  of  the  18th  century.  He  was  the  Sir  Charles  Easy  and  the  Love¬ 
lace  of  his  day  and  country ;  renowned  for  the  number  of  duels  he  had 
fought,  and  the  successful  intrigues  which  he  had  carried  on.  The  supre¬ 
macy  which  he  had  attained  in  the  fashionable  world  was  absolute  ;  and 
when  we  combine  with  it  one  or  two  anecdotes,  for  which,  “  if  laws  were  made 
for  every  degree,”  he  ought  certainly  to  have  been  hanged,  the  popularity 
of  such  a  person  really  serves  to  show,  either  that  the  present  times  are 
much  more  decent,  if  not  more  virtuous,  than  they  formerly  were  ;  or,  that 
high  breeding  then  Avas  of  more  difficult  attainment  than  that  which  is  now 
so  called  ;  and,  consequently,  entitled  the  successful  professor  to  a  propor¬ 
tionable  degree  of  plenary  indulgences  and  privileges.  No  beau  of  this  day 
could  have  borne  out  so  ugly  a  story  as  that  of  Pretty  Peggy  Grindstone, 
the  miller’s  daughter  at  Sillermills  —  it  had  well-nigh  made  work  for  the 
Lord  Advocate.  But  it  hurt  Sir  Philip  Forester  no  more  than  the  hail  hurts 
the  hearth-stone.  He  was  as  well  received  in  society  as  ever,  and  dined 
with  the  Duke  of  A - the  day  the  poor  girl  was  buried.  She  died  of  heart¬ 

break.  But  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  story. 

Now,  you  must  listen  to  a  single  word  upon  kith,  kin,  and  ally;  I  pro¬ 
mise  you  I  will  not  be  prolix.  But  it  is  necessary  to  the  authenticity  of  my 
legend,  that  you  should  know  that  Sir  Philip  Forester,  with  his  handsome 
person,  elegant  accomplishments,  and  fashionable  manners,  married  the 
younger  Miss  Falconer  of  King’s  Copland.  The  elder  sister  of  this  lady 
had  previously  become  the  wife  of  my  grandfather.  Sir  Geoffrey  Bothwell, 
and  brought  into  our  family  a  good  fortune.  Miss  Jemima,  or  Miss  Jemmie 
Falconer,  as  she  was  usually  called,  had  also  about  ten  thousand  pounds 
sterling  —  then  thought  a  very  handsome  portion  indeed. 

The  two  sisters  were  extremely  different,  though  each  had  their  admirers 
while  they  remained  single.  Lady  Bothwell  had  some  touch  of  the  old 
King’s-Copland  blood  about  her.  She  was  bold,  though  not  to  the  degree 
of  audacity  ;  ambitious,  and  desirous  to  raise  her  house  and  family ;  and 
was,  as  has  been  said,  a  considerable  spur  to  my  grandfiither,  who  was 
otherwise  an  indolent  man  ;  but  whom,  unless  he  has  been  slandered,  his 
lady’s  influence  involved  in  some  political  matters  MLich  had  been  more 


MY  AUNT  Margaret’s  mirror. 


393 


■wiFiely  let  alone.  She  was  a  woman  of  high  principle,  however,  and  mas¬ 
culine  good  sense,  as  some  of  her  letters  testify,  which  are  still  in  my  wain¬ 
scot  cabinet.  ‘ 

Jcmmie  Falconer  was  the  reverse  of  her  sister  in  every  respect.  Her 
understanding  did  not  reach  above  the  ordinary  pitch,  if,  indeed,  she  could 
be  said  to  have  attained  it.  Her  beauty,  while  it  lasted,  consisted,  in  a  great 
measure,  of  delicacy  of  complexion  and  regularity  of  features,  without  any 
peculiar  force  of  expression.  Even  these  cliarms  faded  under  the  sufferings 
attendant  on  an  ill-sorted  match.  She  was  passionately  attached  to  her 
husband,  by  whom  she  was  treated  with  a  callous,  yet  polite  indifference, 
which,  to  one  whose  heart  was  as  tender  as  her  judgment  was  weak,  was 
more  painful  perhaps  than  absolute  ill-usage.  Sir  Philip  was  a  voluptuary, 
that  is,  a  completely  selfish  egotist,  whose  disposition  and  character  resem¬ 
bled  the  rapier  he  wore,  polished,  keen,  and  brilliant,  but  inflexible  and 
unpitying.  As  he  observed  carefully  all  the  usual  forms  towards  his  lady, 
he  had  the  art  to  deprive  her  even  of  the  compassion  of  the  world ;  and 
useless  and  unavailing  as  that  may  be  while  actually  possessed  by  the  suf¬ 
ferer,  it  is,  to  a  miud  like  Lady  Forester’s,  most  painful  to  know  she  has 
it  not 

The  tattle  of  society  did  its  best  to  place  the  peccant  husband  above  the 
suffering  wife.  Some  called  her  a  poor  spiritless  thing,  and  declared,  that, 
with  a  little  of  her  sister’s  spirit,  she  might  have  brought  to  reason  any  Sir 
Philip  whatsoever,  were  it  the  termagant  Falconbridge  himself.  But  the 
greater  part  of  their  acquaintance  affected  candour,  and  saw  faults  on  both 
sides ;  though,  in  fact,  there  only  existed  the  oppressor  and  the  oppressed. 
The  tone  of  such  critics  was  —  “To  be  sure,  no  one  will  justify  Sir  Philip 
Forester,  but  then  we  all  know  Sir  Philip,  and  Jemmie  Falconer  might 
have  known  what  she  had  to  expect  from  the  beginning.  —  What  made  her 
set  her  cap  at  Sir  Philip  ?  —  lie  would  never  have  looked  at  her  if  she  had 
not  thrown  herself  at  his  head,  with  her  poor  ten  thousand  pounds.  I  am 
sure,  if  it  is  money  he  wanted,  she  spoiled  his  market.  I  know  where  Sir 
Philip  could  have  done  much  better. — And  then,  if  she  would  have  the  man, 
could  not  she  try  to  make  him  more  comfortable  at  home,  and  have  his 
friends  oftener,  and  not  plague  him  with  the  squalling  children,  and  take 
care  all  was  handsome  and  in  good  style  about  the  house?  I  declare  I 
think  Sir  Philip  would  have  made  a  very  domestic  man,  with  a  woman  Avho 
knew  how  to  manage  him.” 

Now  these  fair  critics,  in  raising  their  profound  edifice  of  domestic  feli¬ 
city,  did  not  recollect  that  the  corner-stone  was  wanting ;  and  that  to  receive 
good  company  with  good  cheer,  the  means  of  the  banquet  ought  to  have 
been  furnished  by  Sir  Philip  ;  whose  income  (dilapidated  as  it  was)  was 
not  equal  to  the  display  of  hospitality  required,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to 
the  supply  of  the  good  knight’s  menus  jplaisirs.  So,  in  spite  of  all  that  was 
so  sagely  suggested  by  female  friends,  Sir  Philip  carried  his  good-humour 
ever}’  where  abroad,  and  left  at  home  a  solitary  mansion  and  a  pining 
spouse. 

At  length,  inconvenienced  in  his  money  affairs,  and  tired  even  of  the 
short  time  which  he  spent  in  his  own  dull  house,  Sir  Philip  Forester  deter¬ 
mined  to  take  a  trip  to  the  Continent,  in  the  capacity  of  a  volunteer.  It 
was  then  common  for  men  of  fashion  to  do  so ;  and  our  knight  perhaps  was 
of  opinion  that  a  touch  of  the  military  character,  just  enough  to  exalt,  but 
not  render  pedantic,  his  qualities  as  a  beau  garqon,  was  necessary  to  main¬ 
tain  possession  of  the  elevated  situation  which  he  held  in  the  ranks  of 
fashion. 

Sir  Philip’s  resolution  threw  his  wife  into  agonies  of  terror,  by  which 
the  worthy  baronet  Avas  so  much  annoyed,  that,  contrary  to  his  wont,  he 
took  some  trouble  to  soothe  her  apprehensions ;  and  once  more  brought  her 
to  shed  tears,  in  Avhich  sorrow  was  not  altogether  unmingled  with  pleasure. 


394 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


/ 


Lady  Bothwell  asked,  as  a  favour,  Sir  Philip's  permission  to  receive  her 
sister  and  her  family  into  her  own  house  during  his  absence  on  the  Conti¬ 
nent.  Sir  Philip  readily  assented  to  a  proposition  which  saved  expense, 
silenced  the  foolish  people  who  might  have  talked  of  a  deserted  wife-  and 
family,  and  gratified  Lady  Bothwell,  for  whom  he  felt  some  respect,  as  for 
one  who  often  spoke  to  him,  always  with  freedom,  and  sometimes  with  seve¬ 
rity,  without  being  deterred  either  by  his  raillery,  or  the  prestige  of  his 
reputation. 

A  day  or  two  before  Sir  Philip's  departure.  Lady  Bothwell  took  the  liberty 
of  asking  him,  in  her  sister’s  presence,  the  direct  question,  which  his  timid 
wife  had  often  desired,  but  never,  ventured,  to  put  to  him. 

“  Pray,  Sir  Philip,  what  route  do  you  take  when  you  reach  the  Continent?" 

“  I  go  from  Leith  to  Helvoet  by  a  packet  with  advices." 

“  That  I  comprehend  perfectly,"  said  Lady  Bothwell  dryly  ;  “but  you  do 
not  mean  to  remain  long  at  Helvoet,  I  presume,  and  I  should  like  to  know 
what  is  your  next  object?" 

“You  ask  me,  my  dear  lady,"  answered  Sir  Philip,  “a  question  which  I 
have  not  dared  to  ask  myself.  The  answer  depends  on  the  fate  of  war.  I 
shall,  of  course,  go  to  headquarters,  v’^herever  they  may  happen  to  be  for  the 
time ;  deliver  my  letters  of  introduction  ;  learn  as  much  of  the  noble  art 
of  war  as  may  suffice  a  poor  interloping  amateur ;  and  then  take  a  glance 
at  the  sort  of  thing  of  which  we  read  so  much  in  the  Gazette." 

“  And  I  trust.  Sir  Philip,"  said  Lady  Bothwell,  “  that  you  will  remember 
that  you  are  a  husband  and  a  father ;  and  that  though  you  think  fit  to  in¬ 
dulge  this  military  fancy,  you  will  not  let  it  hurry  you  into  dangers  which 
it  is  certainly  unnecessary  for  any  save  professional  persons  to  encoun¬ 
ter  ?" 

“  Lady  Bothwell  does  me  too  much  honour,"  replied  the  adventurous 
knight,  “  in  regarding  such  a  circumstance  with  the  slightest  interest.  But 
to  soothe  your  flattering  anxiety,  I  trust  your  ladyship  will  recollect,  that  I 
cannot  expose  to  hazard  the  venerable  and  paternal  character  which  you  so 
obligingly  recommend  to  my  protection,  without  putting  in  some  peril  an 
honest  fellow,  called  Philip  Forester,  with  whom  I  have  kept  company  for 
thirty  years,  and  with  whom,  though  some  folk  consider  him  a  coxcomb,  I 
have  not  the  least  desire  to  part." 

“Well,  Sir  Philip,  you  are  the  best  judge  of  your  own  affairs;  I  have 
little  right  to  interfere  —  you  are  not  my  husband." 

“  God  forbid  !■" — said  Sir  Philip  hastily  ;  instantly  adding,  however,  “God 
forbid  that  I  should  deprive  my  friend  Sir  Geoffrey  of  so  inestimable  a 
treasure." 

“But  you  are  my  sister’s  husband,"  replied  the  lady;  “and  I  suppose 
you  are  aware  of  her  present  distress  of  mind - " 

“  If  hearing  of  nothing  else  from  morning  to  night  can  make  me  aware 
of  it,"  said  Sir  Philip,  “  I  should  know  something  of  the  matter." 

“  I  do  not  pretend  to  reply  to  your  wit.  Sir  Philip,"  answered  Lady  Both¬ 
well  ,  “  but  you  must  be  sensible  that  all  this  distress  is  on  account  of 
apprehensions  for  your  personal  safety." 

“  In  that  case,  I  am  surprised  that  Lady  Bothwell,  at  least,  should  give 
herself  so  much  trouble  upon  so  insignificant  a  subject.' 

“  My  sister’s  interest  may  account  for  my  being  anxious  to  learn  some¬ 
thing  of  Sir  Philip  Forester’s  motions ;  about  which  otherwise,  I  know,  he 
would  not  wish  me  to  concern  myself.  I  have  a  brother’s  safety,  too,  to  be 
anxious  for." 

“  You  mean  Major  Falconer,  your  brother  by  the  mother’s  side:  — AVhat 
can  he  possibly  have  to  do  with  our  present  agreeable  conversation  ?" 

“  You  have  had  words  together.  Sir  Philip,"  said  Lady  Bothwell. 

“Naturally;  we  are  connections,"  replied  Sir  Philip,  “and  as  such  have 
always  had  the  usual  intercourse.’' 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET’S  MIRROR. 


895 


“  That  is  an  evasion  of  the  subject,”  answered  the  lady.  “  By  words,  I 
mean  angry  words,  on  the  subject  of  your  usage  of  your  wife.” 

“  If,”  replied  Sir  Philip  Forester,  “  you  suppose  Major  Falconer  simple 
enough  to  intrude  his  advice  upon  me.  Lady  Bothwell,  in  my  domestic 
matters,  you  are  indeed  warranted  in  believing  that  I  might  possibly  be  so 
far  displeased  with  the  interference,  as  to  request  him  to  reserve  his  advice 
till  it  was  asked.” 

“  And,  being  on  these  terras,  you  are  going  to  join  the  very  army  in  which 
my  brother  Falconer  is  now  serving?” 

“  No  man  knows  the  path  of  honour  better  than  Major  Falconer,”  said 
Sir  Philip.  “  An  aspirant  after  fame,  like  me,  cannot  chose  a  better  guide 
than  his  footsteps.” 

Lady  Bothwell  rose  and  went  to  the  window,  the  tears  gushing  from  her 
eyes. 

”  And  this  heartless  raillery,”  she  said,  ”  is  all  the  consideration  that  is 
to  be  given  to  our  apprehensions  of  a  quarrel  which  may  bring  on  the  most 
terrible  consequences  ?  Good  God  !  of  what  can  men^s  hearts  be  made,  who 
can  thus  dally  with  the  agony  of  others  ?” 

Sir  Philip  Forester  was  moved ;  he  laid  aside  the  mocking  tone  in  which 
he  had  hitherto  spoken. 

“  Dear  Lady  Bothwell,”  he  said,  taking  her  reluctant  hand,  “  we  are 
both  wrong:  — ^’’ou  are  too  deeply  serious  ;  I,  perhaps,  too  little.  The  dis¬ 
pute  I  had  with  Major  Falconer  was  of  no  earthly  consequence.  Had  any 
thing  occurred  betwixt  us  that  ought  to  have  been  settled  jpar  voie  dufait, 
as  we  say  in  France,  neither  of  us  are  persons  that  are  likely  to  postpone 
such  a  meeting.  Permit  me  to  say,  that  were  it  generally  known  that  you 
or  my  Lady  Forester  are  apprehensive  of  such  a  catastrophe,  it  might  be 
the  very  means  of  bringing  about  what  would  not  otherwise  be  likely  to 
happen.  I  know  your  good  sense.  Lady  Bothwell,  and  that  you  will  under¬ 
stand  me  when  I  say,  that  really  my  affairs  require  my  absence  for  some 
months  ;  —  this  Jemima  cannot  understand  ;  it  is  a  perpetual  recurrence  of 
questions,  why  can  you  not  do  this,  or  that,  or  the  third  thing ;  and,  when 
you  have  proved  to  her  that  her  expedients  are  totally  ineffectual,  you  have  ^ 
just  to  begin  the  whole  round  again.  Now,  do  you  tell  her,  dear  Lady 
Bothwell,  that  you  are  satisfied.  She  is,  you  must  confess,  one  of  those 
persons  with  whom  authority  goes  farther  than  reasoning.  Do  but  repose 
a  little  confidence  in  me,  and  you  shall  see  how  amply  I  will^ repay  it.” 

Lady  Bothwell  shook  her  head,  as  one  but  half  satisfied.  *“  How  difficult 
it  is  to  extend  confidence,  when  the  basis  on  which  it  ought  to  rest  has 
been  so  much  shaken  !  But  I  will  do  my  best  to  make  Jemima  easy  ;  and 
farther,  I  can  only  say,  that  for  keeping  your  present  purpose,  I  hold  you 
responsible  both  to  God  and  man.” 

“  Do  not  fear  that  I  will  deceive  you,”  said  Sir  Philip ;  “  the  safest  con¬ 
veyance  to  me  will  be  through  the  general  post-office,  Ilelvoetsluys,  where 
I  will  take  care  to  leave  orders  for  forwarding  ray  letters.  As  for  Falconer, 
our  only  encounter  wfill  be  over  a  bottle  of  Burgundy !  so  make  yourself 
perfectly  easy  on  his  score.” 

Lady  Bothwell  could  not  make  herself  easy ;  yet  she  was  sensible  that 
her  sister  hurt  her  own  cause  by  taking  on,  as  the  maid-servants  call  it,  too 
vehemently;  and  by  showing  before  every  stranger,  by  manner,  and  some¬ 
times  by  words  also,  a  dissatisfaction  with  her  husband's  journey,  that  was 
sure  to  come  to  his  ears,  and  equally  certain  to  displease  him.  But  there 
was  no  help  for  this  domestic  dissension,  which  ended  only  with  the  day  of 
separation. 

I  am  sorry  I  cannot  tell,  with  precision,  the  year  in  which  Sir  Philip 
Forester  went  over  to  Flanders ;  but  it  was  one  of  those  in  which  the 
campaign  opened  with  extraordinary  fury ;  and  many  bloody,  though  in¬ 
decisive,  skirmishes  were  fought  between  the  French  on  the  one  side,  and 


396 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


the  Allies  on  the  other.  In  all  our  modern  improvements,  there  are  none, 
perhaps,  greater  than  in  the  accuracy  and  speed  with  which  intelligence  is 
transmitted  from  any  scene  of  action  to  those  in  this  country  whom  it  may 
concern.  During  Marlborough’s  campaigns,  the  sufferings  of  the  many 
who  had  relations  in,  or  along  with,  the  army,  were  greatly  augmented 
by  the  suspense  in  which  they  were  detained  for  weeks,  after  they  had 
heard  of  bloody  battles  in  which,  in  all  probability,  those  for  whom  their 
bosoms  throbbed  with  anxiety  had  been  personally  engaged.  Amongst 
those  who  were  most  agonized  by  this  state  of  uncertainty,  was  the — I  had 
almost  said  deserted  —  wife  of  the  gay  Sir  Philip  Forester.  A  single  letter 
had  informed  her  of  his  arrival  on  the  Continent — no  others  were  received. 
One  notice  occurred  in  the  newspapers,  in  which  Volunteer  Sir  Philip  Fores¬ 
ter  was  mentioned  as  having  been  entrusted  with  a  dangerous  reconnois- 
sance,  which  he  had  executed  with  the  greatest  courage,  dexterity,  and 
intelligence,  and  received  the  thanks  of  the  commanding  officer.  The  sense 
of  his  having  acquired  distinction  brought  a  momentary  glow  into  the 
lady’s  pale  cheek ;  but  it  was  instantly  lost  in  ashen  whiteness  at  the 
recollection  of  his  danger.  After  this,  they  had  no  news  whatever,  neither 
from  Sir  Philip,  nor  even  from  their  brother  Falconer.  The  case  of  Lady 
Forester  was  not  indeed  different  from  that  of  hundreds  in  the  same  situa¬ 
tion  ;  but  a  feeble  mind  is  necessarily  an  irritable  one,  and  the  suspense 
which  some  bear  with  constitutional  indifference  or  philosophical  resigna¬ 
tion,  and  some  with  a  disposition  to  believe  and  hope  the  best,  was  intole¬ 
rable  to  Lady  Forester,  at  once  solitary  and  sensitive,  low-spirited,  and 
devoid  of  strength  of  mind,  whether  natural  or  acquired. 


Cjinptn  tD  litnni. 

As  she  received  no  farther  news  of  Sir  Philip,  whether  directly  or  indi¬ 
rectly,  his  unfortunate  lady  began  now  to  feel  a  sort  of  consolation,  even  in 
those  careless  habits  which  had  so  often  given  her  pain.  “  He  is  so  thought¬ 
less,”  she  repeated  a  hujidred  times  a  day  to  her  sister,  “he  never  writes 
when  things  are  going  on  smoothly ;  it  is  his  way :  had  any  thing  happened 
he  would  have  informed  us.” 

Lady  Bothwell  listened  to  her  sister  without  attempting  to  console  her. 
Probably  she  might  be  of  opinion,  that  even  the  worst  intelligence  which 
could  be  received  from  Flanders  might  not  be  without  some  touch  of  conso¬ 
lation  ;  and  that  the  Dowager  Lady  Forester,  if  so  she  was  doomed  to  be 
called,  might  have  a  source  of  happiness  unknown  to  the  wife  of  the  gayest 
and  finest  gentleman  in  Scotland.  This  conviction  became  stronger  as 
they  learned  from  inquiries  made  at  headquarters,  that  Sir  Philip  was  no 
longer  with  the  army ;  though  whether  he  had  been  taken  or  slain  in  some 
of  those  skirmishes  which  were  perpetually  occurring,  and  in  which  he 
loved  to  distinguish  himself,  or  whether  he  had,  for  some  unknown  reason 
or  capricious  change  of  mind,  voluntarily  left  the  service,  none  of  his 
countrymen  in  the  camp  of  the  Allies  could  form  even  a  conjecture.  Mean¬ 
time  his  creditors  at  home  became  clamorous,  entered  into  possession  of  his 

Property,  and  threatened  his  person,  should  he  be  rash  enough  to  return  to 
cotland.  These  additional  disadvantages  aggravated  Lady  Bothwell’s 
displeasure  against  the  fugitive  husband  ;  while  her  sister  saw  nothing  in 
any  of  them,  save  what  tended  to  increase  her  grief  for  the  absence  of  him 
whom  her  imagination  now  represented,  —  as  it  had  before  marriage,  — 
gallant,  gay,  and  affectionate. 


397 


% 


MY  AUNT  Margaret’s  mirror. 

About  this  period  there  appeared  in  Edinburgh  a  man  of  singular  ap¬ 
pearance  and  pretensions.  He  was  commonly  called  the  Paduan  Doctor, 
from  having  received  his  education  at  that  famous  university.  He  was 
supposed  to  possess  some  rare  receipts  in  medicine,  with  which,  it  was 
affirmed,  he  had  wrought  remarkable  cures.  But  though,  on  the  one  hand, 
the  physicians  of  Edinburgh  termed  him  an  empiric,  there  were  many 
persons,  and  among  them  some  of  the  clergy,  who,  while  they  admitted  the 
truth  of  the  cures  and  the  force  of  his  remedies,  alleged  that  Doctor  Baptist! 
Damiotti  made  use  of  charms  and  unlawful  arts  in  order  to  obtain  success 
in  his  practice.  The  resorting  to  him  was  even  solemnly  preached  against, 
as  a  seeking  of  health  from  idols,  and  a  trusting  to  the  help  which  was  to 
come  from  Egypt.  But  the  protection  which  the  Paduan  Doctor  received 
from  some  friends  of  interest  and  consequence,  enabled  him  to  set  these 
imputations  at  defiance,  and  to  assume,  even  in  the  city  of  Edinburgh, 
famed  as  it  was  for  abhorrence  of  witches  and  necromancers,  the  dan¬ 
gerous  character  of  an  expounder  of  futurity.  It  was  at  length  rumoured, 
that  for  a  certain  gratification,  which,  of  course,  was  not  an  inconsiderable 
one.  Doctor  Baptist!  Damiotti  could  tell  the  fiite  of  the  absent,  and  even 
show  his  visiters  the  personal  form  of  their  absent  friends,  and  the  action 
in  which  they  were  engaged  at  the  moment.  This  rumour  came  to  the 
ears  of  Lady  Forester,  who  had  reached  that  pitch  of  mental  agony  in  which 
the  sufferer  will  do  any  thing,  or  endure  any  thing,  that  suspense  may  bo 
converted  into  certainty. 

Gentle  and  timid  in  most  cases,  her  state  of  mind  made  her  equally 
obstinate  and  reckless,  and  it  was  with  no  small  surprise  and  alarm  that 
her  sister.  Lady  Bothwell,  heard  her  express  a  resolution  to  visit  this  man 
of  art,  and  learn  from  him  the  fate  of  her  husband.  Lady  Bothwell  re¬ 
monstrated  on  the  improbability  that  such  pretensions  as  those  of  this 
foreigner  could  be  founded  on  any  thing  but  imposture. 

“  I  care  not,”  said  the  deserted  wife,  “  what  degree  of  ridicule  I  may 
incur ;  if  there  be  any  one  chance  out  of  a  hundred  that  I  may  obtain  some 
certainty  of  my  husband’s  fate,  I  would  not  miss  that  chance  for  whatever 
else  the  world  can  offer  me.” 

Lady  Bothwell  next  urged  the  unlawfulness  of  resorting  to  such  sources 
of  forbidden  knowledge. 

“  Sister,”  replied  the  sufferer,  “  he  who  is  dying  of  thirst  cannot  refrain 
from  drinking  poisoned  water.  She  who  suffers  under  suspense  must  seek 
information,  even  were  the  powers  which  offer  it  unhallowed  and  infernal. 
I  go  to  learn  my  fate  alone ;  and  this  very  evening  will  I  know  it ;  the 
sun  that  rises  to-morrow  shall  find  me,  if  not  more  happy,  at  least  more 
resigned.” 

“  Sister,”  said  Lady  Bothwell,  “  if  you  are  determined  upon  this  wild 
step,  you  shall  not  go  alone.  If  this  man  be  an  impostor,  you  may  be  too 
much  agitated  by  your  feelings  to  detect  his  villany.  If,  which  I  cannot 
believe,  there  be  any  truth  in  what  he  pretends,  you  shall  not  be  exposed 
alone  to  a  communication  of  so  extraordinary  a  nature.  I  will  go  with 
you,  if  indeed  you  determine  to  go.  But  yet  reconsider  your  project,  and 
renounce  inquiries  which  cannot  be  prosecuted  without  guilt,  and  perhaps 
without  danger.” 

Lady  Forester  threw  herself  into  her  sister’s  arms,  and,  clasping  her  to 
her  bosom,  thanked  her  a  hundred  times  for  the  offer  of  her  company  ; 
while  she  declined  with  a  melancholy  gesture  the  friendly  advice  with 
which  it  was  accompanied. 

When  the  hour  of  twilight  arrived,  —  which  was  the  period  when  the 
Paduan  Doctor  was  understood  to  receive  the  visits  of  those  who  came  to 
consult  with  him, — the  two  ladies  left  their  apartments  in  the  Canongate  of 
Edinburgh,  having  their  dress  arranged  like  that  of  women  of  an  inferior 
description,  and  their  plaids  disposed  around  their  faces  as  they  were  woru 


« 


398  W  A  V  E  R  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 

by  the  same  class  ;  for,  in  those  days  of  aristocracy,  the  quality  of  the  wearer 
■was  generally  indicated  by  the  manner  in  which  her  plaid  was  disposed,  as 
well  as  by  the  fineness  of  its  texture.  It  was  Lady  Bothwell  who  had  sug¬ 
gested  this  species  of  disguise,  partly  to  avoid  observation  as  they  should  go 
to  the  conjuror’s  house,  and  partly  in  order  to  make  trial  of  his  penetration, 
by  appearing  before  him  in  a  feigned  character.  Lady  Forester’s  servant, 
of  tried  fidelity,  had  been  employed  by  her  to  propitiate  the  Doctor  by  a 
suitable  fee,  and  a  story  intimating  that  a  soldier’s  wife  desired  to  know  the 
fate  of  her  husband  ;  a  subject  upon  which,  in  all  probability,  the  sage  was 
very  frequently  consulted. 

To  the  last  moment,  when  the  palace  clock  struck  eight.  Lady  Bothwell 
earnestly  watched  her  sister,  in  hopes  that  she  might  retreat  from  her  rash 
undertaking ;  but  as  mildness,  and  even  timidity,  is  capable  at  times  of 
vehement  and  fixed  purposes,  she  found  Lady  Forester  resolutely  unmoved 
and  determined  when  the  moment  of  departure  arrived.  Ill  satisfied  wdth 
the  expedition,  but  determined  not  to  leave  her  sister  at  such  a  crisis.  Lady 
Bothwell  accompanied  Lady  Forester  through  more  than  one  obscure  street 
and  lane,  the  servant  walking  before,  and  acting  as  their  guide.  At  length 
he  suddenly  turned  into  a  narrow  court,  and  knocked  at  an  arched  door, 
which  seemed  to  belong  to  a  building  of  some  antiquity.  It  opened,  though 
no  one  appeared  to  act  as  porter  ;  and  the  servant,  stepping  aside  from  the 
entrance,  motioned  the  ladies  to  enter.  They  had  no  sooner  done  so,  than 
it  shut,  and  excluded  their  guide.  The  two  ladies  found  themselves  in  a 
small  vestibule,  illuminated  by  a  dim  lamp,  and  having,  when  the  door 
was  closed,  no  communication  with  the  external  light  or  air.  The  door 
of  an  inner  apartment,  partly  open,  was  at  the  farther  side  of  the  vesti¬ 
bule. 

“We  must  not  hesitate  now,  Jemima,”  said  Lady  Bothwell,  and  walked 
forwards  into  the  inner  room,  where,  surrounded  by  books,  maps,  philo¬ 
sophical  utensils,  and  other  implements  of  peculiar  shape  and  appearance, 
they  found  the  man  of  art. 

There  was  nothing  very  peculiar  in  the  Italian’s  appearance.  He  had 
the  dark  complexion  and  marked  features  of  his  country,  seemed  about 
fifty  years  old,  and  was  handsomely,  but  plainly,  dressed  in  a  full  suit  of 
black  clothes,  which  was  then  the  universal  costume  of  the  medical  pro¬ 
fession.  Large  wax-lights,  in  silver  sconces,  illuminated  the  apartment, 
which  was  reasonably  furnished.  He  rose  as  the  ladies  entered ;  and,  not- 
wdthstanding  the  inferiority  of  their  dress,  received  them  with  the  marked 
respect  due  to  their  quality,  and  which  foreigners  are  usually  punctilious 
in  rendering  to  those  to  whom  such  honours  are  due. 

Lady  Bothwell  endeavoured  to  maintain  her  proposed  incognito  ;  and, 
as  the  Doctor  ushered  them  tp  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  made  a  motion 
declining  his  courtesy,  as  unfitted  for  their  condition.  “We  are  poor 
people,  sir,”  she  said ;  “  only  my  sister’s  distress  has  brought  us  to  consult 
your  worship  whether - ” 

He  smiled  as  he  interrupted  her — “  I  am  aware,  madam,  of  your  sister’s 
distress,  and  its  cause  ;  I  am  aware,  also,  that  I  am  honoured  with  a  visit 
from  two  ladies  of  the  highest  consideration  —  Lady  Bothwell  and  Lady 
Forester.  If  I  could  not  distinguish  them  from  the  class  of  society  which 
their  present  dress  would  indicate,  there  would  be  small  possibility  of  my 
being  able  to  gratify  them  by  giving  the  information  which  they  come  to 
seek.” 

“  I  can  easily  understand,”  said  Lady  Bothwell - 

“  Pardon  my  boldness  to  interrupt  you,  milady,”  cried  the  Italian ; 
“  your  ladyship  was  about  to  say,  that  you  could  easily  understand  that  I 
had  got  possession  of  your  names  by  means  of  your  domestic.  But  in 
thinking  so,  you  do  injustice  to  the  fidelity  of  your  servant,  and,  I  may 


MY  AUNT  A  U  caret’s  MIRROR. 


399 


add,  to  the  skill  of  one  ^vho  is  also  not  less  your  humble  servant — Baptist! 
Damiotti/’ 

“  I  have  no  intention  to  do  either,  sir,”  said  Lady  Bothwell,  maintaining 
a  tone  of  composure,  though  somewhat  surprised,  “  but  the  situation  is 
something  new  to  me.  If  you  know  who  we  are,  you  also  know,  sir,  what 
brought  us  here.” 

“Curiosity  to  know  the  fate  of  a  Scottish  gentleman  of  rank,  now,  or 
lately  upon  the  Continent,”  answered  the  seer;  “his  name  is  II  Cavaliero 
Philippo  Forester ;  a  gentleman  who  has  the  honour  to  be  husband  to  this 
lady,  and,  with  your  ladyship’s  permission  for  using  plain  language,  the 
misfortune  not  to  value  as  it  deserves  that  inestimable  advantage.” 

Lady  Forester  sighed  deeply,  and  Lady  Bothwell  replied — 

“  Since  you  know  our  object  without  our  telling  it,  the  only  question  that 
remains  is,  whether  you  have  the  power  to  relieve  my  sister’s  anxiety  ?  ” 

“  I  have,  madam,”  answered  the  Paduan  scholar ;  “  but  there  is  still  a 
previous  inquiry.  Have  you  the  courage  to  behold  with  your  own  eyes 
what  the  Cavaliero  Philippo  Forester  is  now  doing?  or  will  you  take  it  on 
my  report?” 

“  That  question  my  sister  must  answer  for  herself,”  said  Lady  Both¬ 
well. 

“  With  my  own  eyes  will  I  endure  to  see  whatever  you  have  power  to 
show  me,”  said  Lady  Forester,  with  the  same  determined  spirit  which  had 
stimulated  her  since  her  resolution  was  taken  upon  this  subject. 

“  There  may  be  danger  in  it.” 

“  If  gold  can  compensate  the  risk,”  said  Lady  Forester,  taking  out  her 
purse. 

“  I  do  not  such  things  for  the  purpose  of  gain,”  answered  the  foreigner. 
“  I  dare  not  turn  my  art  to  such  a  purpose.  If  I  take  the  gold  of  the 
w'ealthy,  it  is  but  to  bestow  it  on  the  poor ;  nor  do  I  ever  accept  more  than 
the  sum  I  have  already  received  from  your  servant.  Put  up  your  purse, 
madam  ;  an  adept  needs  not  your  gold.” 

Lady  Bothwell  considering  this  rejection  of  her  sister’s  ojffer  as  a  mere 
trick  of  an  empiric,  to  induce  her  to  press  a  larger  sum  upon  him,  and 
willing  that  the  scene  should  be  commenced  and  ended,  offered  some  gold 
in  turn,  observing  that  it  was  only  to  enlarge  the  sphere  of  his  charity. 

“  Let  Lady  Bothwell  enlarge  the  sphere  of  her  own  charity,”  said  the 
Paduan,  “not  merely  in  giving  of  alms,  in  which  I  know  she  is  not  de¬ 
ficient,  but  in  judging  the  character  of  others  ;  and  let  her  oblige  Baptist! 
Damiotti  by  believing  him  honest,  till  she  shall  discover  him  to  be  a  knave. 
Do  not  be  surprised,  madam,  if  I  speak  in  answer  to  your  thoughts  rather 
than  your  expressions,  and  tell  me  once  more  whether  you  have  courage  to 
look  on  what  I  am  prepared  to  show  ?” 

“I  own,  sir,”  said  Lady  Bothwell,  “  that  your  words  strike  me  with  some 
sense  of  fear ;  but  whatever  my  sister  desires  to  witness,  I  will  not  shrink 
from  witnessing  along  with  her.” 

“Nay,  the  danger  only  consists  in  the  risk  of  your  resolution  failing 
you.  The  sight  can  only  last  for  the  space  of  seven  minutes  ;  and  should 
you  interrupt  the  vision  by  speaking  a  single  word,  not  only  would  the 
charm  be  broken,  but  some  danger  might  result  to  the  spectators.  But  if 
you  can  remain  steadily  silent  for  the  seven  minutes,  your  curiosity  will 
be  gratified  without  the  slightest  risk ;  and  for  this  I  will  engage  my 
honour.” 

Internally  Lady  Bothwell  thought  the  security  was  but  an  indifferent 
one;  but  she  suppressed  the  suspicion,  as  if  she  had  believed  that  the 
adept,  whose  dark  features  wore  a  half-formed  smile,  could  in  reality  read 
even  her  most  secret  reflections.  A  solemn  pause  then  ensued,  until  Lady 
Forester  gathered  courage  enough  to  reply  to  the  physician,  as  he  termed 
himself,  that  she  would  abide  with  firmness  and  silence  the  sight  which  he 


400 


W  A  V  E  11  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 


had  promised  to  exhibit  to  them.  Upon  this,  he  made  them  a  low  obei¬ 
sance,  and  saying  he  went  to  prepare  matters  to  meet  their  wish,  left  the 
apartment.  The  two  sisters,  hand  in  hand,  as  if  seeking  by  that  close  union 
to  divert  any  danger  which  might  threaten  them,  sat  down  on  two  seats  in 
immediate  contact  with  each  other:  Jemima  seeking  support  in  the  manly 
and  habitual  courage  of  Lady  Bothwell ;  and  she,  on  the  other  hand,  more 
agitated  than  she  had  expected,  endeavouring  to  fortify  herself  by  the 
desperate  resolution  which  circumstances  had  forced  her  sister  to  assume. 
The  one  perhaps  said  to  herself,  that  her  sister  never  feared  anything ;  and 
the  other  might  reflect,  that  what  so  feeble  a  minded  woman  as  Jemima 
did  not  fear,  could  not  properly  be  a  subject  of  apprehension  to  a  person 
of  firmness  and  resolution  like  herself. 

In  a  few  moments  the  thoughts  of  both  were  diverted  from  their  own 
situation,  by  a  strain  of  music  so  singularly  sweet  and  solemn,  that,  while 
it  seemed  calculated  to  avert  or  dispel  any  feeling  unconnected  with  its 
harmony,  increased,  at  the  same  time,  the  solemn  excitation  which  the 
preceding  interview  was  calculated  to  produce.  The  music  was  that  of 
some  instrument  with  which  they  were  unacquainted  ;  but  circumstances 
afterwards  led  my  ancestress  to  believe  that  it  was  that  of  the  harmonica, 
which  she  heard  at  a  much  later  period  in  life. 

When  these  heaven-born  sounds  had  ceased,  a  door  opened  in  the  upper 
end  of  the  apartment,  and  they  saw  Damiotti,  standing  at  the  head  of  two 
or  three  steps,  sign  to  them  to  advance.  Ilis  dress  was  so  difierent  from 
that  which  he  had  worn  a  few  minutes  before,  that  they  could  hardly  recog¬ 
nize  him  ;  and  the  deadly  paleness  of  his  countenance,  and  a  certain  rigidity 
of  muscles,  like  that  of  one  whose  mind  is  made  up  to  some  strange  and 
daring  action,  had  totally  changed  the  somewhat  sarcastic  expression  with 
which  he  had  previously  regarded  them  both,  and  particularly  Lady  Both¬ 
well.  He  was  barefooted,  excepting  a  species  of  sandals  in  the  antique 
fashion  ;  his  legs  were  naked  beneath  the  knees  ;  above  them  he  wore  hose, 
and  a  doublet  of  dark  crimson  silk  close  to  his  body;  and  over  that  a  flow¬ 
ing  loose  robe,  something  resembling  a  surplice,  of  snow-white  linen  ;  his 
throat  and  neck  were  uncovered,  and  his  long,  straight,  black  hair  was  care¬ 
fully  combed  down  at  full  length. 

As  the  ladies  approached  at  his  bidding,  he  showed  no  gesture  of  that 
ceremonious  courtesy  of  which  he  had  been  formerly  lavish.  On  the  contrary, 
he  made  the  signal  of  advance  with  an  air  of  command ;  and  when,  arm  in 
arm,  and  with  insecure  steps,  the  sisters  approached  the  spot  where  he 
stood,  it  was  with  a  warning  frown  that  he  pressed  his  finger  to  his  lips,  as 
if  reiterating  his  condition  of  absolute  silence,  while,  stalking  before  them, 
he  led  the  way  into  the  next  apartment. 

This  was  a  large  room,  hung  with  black,  as  if  for  a  funeral.  At  the 
upper  end  was  a  table,  or  rather  a  species  of  altar,  covered  with  the  same 
lugubrious  colour,  on  which  lay  divers  objects  resembling  the  usual  imple¬ 
ments  of  sorcery.  These  objects  were  not  indeed  visible  as  they  advanced 
into  the  apartment ;  for  the  light  which  displayed  them,  being  only  that  of 
two  expiring  lamps,  was  extremely  faint.  The  master  —  to  use  the  Italian 
phrase  for  persons  of  this  description  —  approached  the  upper  end  of  the 
rooip  with  a  genuflexion  like  that  of  a  Catholic  to  the  crucifix,  and  at  the 
same  time  crossed  himself.  The  ladies  followed  in  silence,  and  arm  in  arm. 
Two  or  three  low  broad  steps  led  to  a  platform  in  front  of  the  altar,  or  what 
resembled  such.  Here  the  sage  took  his  stand,  and  placed  the  ladies  beside 
him,  once  more  earnestly  repeating  by  signs  his  injunctions  of  silence.  The 
Italian  then,  extending  his  bare  arm  from  under  his  linen  vestment,  pointed 
Avith  hi^  forefinger  to  five  large  flambeaux,  or  torches,  placed  on  each  side 
of  the  altar.  They  took  fire  successively  at  the  approach  of  his  hand,  or 
rather  of  his  finger,  and  spread  a  strong  light  through  the  room.  By  this 
the  visitors  could  discern  that,  on  the  seeming  altar,  were  disposed  two 


MY  AUNT  Margaret’s  :m i r r o r . 


401 


naked  swords  laid  crosswise ;  a  large  open  book,  wdiich  they  conceived  to 
be  a  copy  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  but  in  a  language  to  them  unknowm  ;  and 
beside  this  mysterious  volume  was  placed  a  human  skull.  But  what  struck 
the  sisters  most  was  a  very  tall  and  broad  mirror,  which  occupied  all  the 
space  behind  the  altar,  and,  illuminated  by  the  lighted  torches,  reflected  the 
mysterious  articles  wdiich  were  laid  upon  it. 

The  master  then  placed  himself  between  the  two  ladies,  and,  pointing  to 
the  mirror,  took  each  by  the  hand,  but  without  speaking  a  syllable.  They 
gazed  intently  on  the  polished  and  sable  space  to  which  he  had  directed 
their  attention.  Suddenly  the  surface  assumed  a  new  and  singular  appear¬ 
ance.  It  no  longer  simply  reflected  the  objects  placed  before  it,  but,  as  if 
it  had  self-contained  scenery  of  its  own,  objects  began  to  appear  within  it, 
at  first  in  a  disorderly,  indistinct,  and  miscellaneous  manner,  like  form 
arranging  itself  out  of  chaos;  at  length,  in  distinct  and  defined  shape  and 
symmetry.  It  was  thus  that,  after  some  shifting  of  light  and  darkness  over 
the  face  of  the  wonderful  glass,  a  long  perspective  of  arches  and  columns 
began  to  arrange  itself  on  its  sides,  and  a  vaulted  roof  on  the  upper  part  of 
it ;  till,  after  many  oscillations,  the  whole  vision  gained  a  fixed  and  station¬ 
ary  appearance,  representing  the  interior  of  a  foreign  church.  The  pillars 
were  stately,  and  hung  with  scutcheons  ;  the  arches  were  lofty  and  magnifi¬ 
cent  ;  the  floor  was  lettered  with  funeral  inscriptions.  But  there  were  no 
separate  shrines,  no  images,  no  display  of  chalice  or  crucifix  on  the  altar. 
It  was,  therefore,  a  Protestant  church  upon  the  Continent.  A  clergyman, 
dressed  in  the  Geneva  gown  and  band,  stood  by  the  communion-table,  and, 
with  the  Bible  opened  before  him,  and  his  clerk  awaiting  in  the  back¬ 
ground,  seemed  prepared  to  perform  some  service  of  the  church  to  which  he 
belonged. 

At  length  there  entered  the  middle  aisle  of  the  building  a  numerous 
party,  which  appeared  to  be  a  bridal  one,  as  a  lady  and  gentleman  walked 
first,  hand  in  hand,  followed  by  a  large  concourse  of  persons  of  both  sexes, 
gaily,  nay  richly,  attired.  The  bride,  whose  features  they  could  distinctly 
see,  seemed  not  more  than  sixteen  years  old,  and  extremely  beautiful.  The 
bridegroom,  for  some  seconds,  moved  rather  with  his  shoulder  towards  them, 
and  his  face  averted ;  but  his  elegance  of  form. and  step  struck  the  sisters 
at  once  with  the  same  apprehension.  As  he  turned  his  face  suddenly,  it 
was  frightfully  realized,  and  they  saw,  in  the  gay  bridegroom  before  them. 
Sir  Pliilip  Forester.  His  wife  uttered  an  imperfect  exclamation,  at  the 
sound  of  which  the  whole  scene  stirred  and  seemed  to  separate. 

“  I  could  compare  it  to  nothing,^'  said  Lady  Bothwell,  while  recounting 
the  wonderful  tale,  “  but  to  the  dispersion  of  the  reflection  offered  by  a  deep 
and  calm  pool,  when  a  stone  is  suddenly  cast  into  it,  and  the  shadows 
become  dissipated  and  broken.^^  Tlie  master  pressed  both  the  ladies^  hands 
severely,  as  if  to  remind  them  of  their  promise,  and  of  the  danger  which 
they  incurred.  The  exclamation  died  away  on  Lady  Forester’s  tongue  with¬ 
out  attaining  perfect  utterance,  and  the  scene  in  the  glass,  after  the  fluctua¬ 
tion  of  a  minute,  again  resumed  to  the  eye  its  former  appearance  of  a  real 
scene,  existing  within  the  mirror,  as  if  represented  in  a  picture,  save  that 
the  figures  were  moveable  instead  of  being  stationary. 

The  representation  of  Sir  Philip  Forester,  now  distinctly  visible  in  form 
and  feature,  was  seen  to  lead  on  towards  the  clergyman  that  beautiful  girl, 
who  advanced  at  once  with  diffidence,  and  wdth  a  species  of  affectionate 
pride.  In  the  meantime,  and  just  as  the  clergyman  had  arranged  the  bridal 
company  before  him,  and  seemed  about  to  commence  the  service,  another 
group  of  persons,  of  whom  two  or  three  were  officers,  entered  the  church. 
They  moved,  at  first,  forward,  as  though  they  came  to  witness  the  bridal 
ceremony,  but  suddenly  one  of  the  officers,  whose  back  w'as  towards  the 
spectators,  detached  himself  from  his  companions,  and  rushed  hastily 
towards  the  marriage  party,  when  the  w'hole  of  them  turned  towards  him, 

VoL.  XII.— 26  2  1  2 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


402 

as  if  attracted  by  some  exclamation  which  had  accompanied  his  advance 
Suddenly  the  intruder  drew  his  sword;  the  bridegroom  unsheathed  his  own, 
and  made  towards  him  ;  swords  were  also  drawn  by  other  individuals,  both 
of  the  marriage  party,  and  of  those  who  had  last  entered.  They  fell  into  a 
sort  of  confusion,  the  clergyman,  and  some  elder  and  graver  persons,  labour¬ 
ing  apparently  to  keep  the  peace,  while  the  hotter  spirits  on  both  sides 
brandished  their  weapons.  But  now  the  period  of  brief  space  during  which 
the  soothsayer,  as  he  pretended,  was  permitted  to  exhibit  his  art,  was 
arrived.  The  fumes  again  mixed  together,  and  dissolved  gradually  from 
observation  ;  the  vaults  and  columns  of  the  church  rolled  asunder,  and 
disappeared  ;  and  the  front  of  the  mirror  reflected  nothing  save  the  blazing 
torches,  and  the  melancholy  apparatus  placed  on  the  altar  or  table  before  it. 

The  doctor  led  the  ladies,  who  greatly  required  his  support,  into  the 
apartment  from  whence  they  came ;  where  wine,  essences,  and  other  means 
of  restoring  suspended  animation,  had  been  provided  during  his  absence. 
He  motioned  them  to  chairs,  which  they  occupied  in  silence  ;  Lady  Forester, 
in  particular,  wringing  her  hands,  and  casting  her  eyes  up  to  heaven,  but 
without  speaking  a  word,  as  if  the  spell  had  been  still  before  her  eyes. 

“And  what  we  have  seen  is  even  now  acting?'^  said  Lady  Bothwell, 
collecting  herself  with  difficulty*. 

“  That,^^  answered  Baptist!  Damiotti,  “  I  cannot  justly,  or  with  certainty, 
say.  But  it  is  either  now  acting,  or  has  been  acted,  during  a  short  space 
before  this.  It  is  the  last  remarkable  transaction  in  which  the  Cavalier 
Forester  has  been  engaged.” 

Lady  Bothwell  then  expressed  anxiety  concerning  her  sister,  whose  altered 
countenance  and  apparent  unconsciousness  of  what  passed  around  her, 
excited  her  apprehensions  how  it  might  be  possible  to  convey  her  home. 

“I  have  prepared  for  that,”  answered  the  adept;  “I  have  directed  the 
servant  to  bring  your  equipage  as  near  to  this  place  as  the  narrowness  of  the 
street  will  permit.  Fear  not  for  your  sister ;  but  give  her,  when  you  return 
home,  this  composing  draught,  and  she  will  be  better  to  morrow-morning. 
Few,”  he  added,  in  a  melancholy  tone,  “leave  this  house  as  well  in  health 
as  they  entered  it.  Such  being  the  consequence  of  seeking  knowledge  by 
mysterious  means,  I  leave  you  to  judge  the  condition  of  those  who  have  the 
power  of  gratifying  such  irregular  curiosity.  Farewell,  and  forget  not  the 
potion.” 

“  I  will  give  her  nothing  that  comes  from  you,”  said  Lady  Bothwell ;  “  I 
have  seen  enough  of  your  art  already.  Perhaps  you  would  poison  us  both 
to  conceal  your  own  necromancy.  But  we  are  persons  who  want  neither 
the  means  of  making  our  wrongs  known,  nor  the  assistance  of  friends  to 
right  them.” 

“You  have  had  no  wrongs  from  me,  madam,”  said  the  adept.  “You 
sought  one  who  is  little  grateful  for  such  honour.  He  seeks  no  one,  and 
only  gives  responses  to  those  who  invite  and  call  upon  him.  After  all,  you 
have  but  learned  a  little  sooner  the  evil  which  you  must  still  be  doomed  to 
endure.  I  hear  your  servants  step  at  the  door,  and  will  detain  your  lady¬ 
ship  and  Lady  Forester  no  longer.  The  next  packet  from  the  continent  will 
explain  what  you  have  partly  witnessed.  Let  it  not,  if  I  may  advise,  pass 
too  suddenly  into  your  sister’s  hands.” 

So  saying,  he  bid  Lady  Bothwell  good-night.  She  went,  lighted  by  the 
adept,  to  the  vestibule,  where  he  hastily  threw  a  black  cloak  over  his  sin¬ 
gular  dress,  and  opening  the  door  intrusted  his  visitors  to  the  care  of  the 
servant.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  Lady  Bothwell  sustained  her  sister  to 
the  carriage,  though  it  was  only  twenty  steps  distant.  When  they  arrived 
at  home,  Lady  Forester  required  medical  assistance.  The  physician  of  the 
family  attended,  and  shook  his  head  on  feeling  her  pulse. 

“  Here  has  been,”  he  said,  “  a  violent  and  sudden  shock  on  the  nerves. 
I  must  know  how  it  has  happened.” 


MY  AUNT  Margaret’s  mirror. 


403 


Lady  Lothwell  admitted  they  had  visited  the  conjuror,  and  that  Lady 
Forester  liad  received  some  bad  news  respecting  her  husband,  Sir  Philip. 

“  That  rascally  quack  would  make  my  fortune  were  he  to  stay  in  Edin¬ 
burgh, ’’  said  the  graduate  ;  “  this  is  the  seventh  nervous  case  I  have  heard 
of  his  making  for  me,  and  all  by  effect  of  terror.^^  He  next  examined  the 
composing  draught  which  Lady  Bothwell  had  unconsciously  brought  in  her 
hand,  tasted  it,  and  pronounced  it  very  germain  to  the  matter,  and  what 
would  save  an  application  to  the  apothecary.  He  then  paused,  and  looking 
at  Lady  Bothwell  very  significantly,  at  length  added,  “  I  suppose  I  must  not 
ask  your  ladyship  anything  about  this  Italian  warlock’s  proceedings?” 

“  Indeed,  Doctor,”  answered  Lady  Bothwell,  “  I  consider  what  passed  as 
confidential ;  and  though  the  man  may  be  a  rogue,  yet,  as  we  were  fools 
enough  to  consult  him,  we  should,  I  think,  be  honest  enough  to  keep  his 
counsel.” 

“il/ay  be  a  knave — come,”  said  the  Doctor,  “  I  am  glad  to  hear  your  lady¬ 
ship  allows  such  a  possibility  in  any  thing  that  comes  from  Italy.” 

“  What  comes  from  Italy  may  be  as  good  as  what  comes  from  Hanover, 
Doctor.  But  you  and  I  will  remain  good  friends,  and  that  it  may  be  so,  we 
will  say  nothing  of  Whig  and  Tory.” 

“Not  I,”  said  the  Doctor,  receiving  his  fee,  and  taking  his  hat;  “a  Carolus 
serves  my  purpose  as  well  as  a  Willielmus.  But  I  should  like  to  know  why 
old  Lady  Saint  Ilingan’s,  and  all  that  set,  go  about  wasting  their  decayed 
lungs  in  puffing  this  foreign  fellow.” 

“Ay  —  you  had  best  set  him  down  a  Jesuit,  as  Scrub  says.”  On  these 
terms  they  parted. 

The  poor  patient — whose  nerves,  from  an  extraordinary  state  of  tension, 
had  at  length  become  relaxed  in  as  extraordinary  a  degree  —  continued  to 
struggle  with  a  sort  of  imbecility,  the  growth  of  superstitious  terror,  when 
the  shocking  tidings  were  brought  from  Holland,  which  fulfilled  even  her 
worst  expectations. 

They  were  sent  by  the  celebrated  Earl  of  Stair,  and  contained  the  melan¬ 
choly  event  of  a  duel  betwixt  Sir  Philip  Forester,  and  his  wife’s  half-brother. 
Captain  Falconer,  of  the  Scotch-Dutch,  as  they  were  then  called,  in  which 
the  latter  had  been  killed.  The  cause  of  quarrel  rendered  the  incident  still 
more  shocking.  It  seemed  that  Sir  Philip  had  left  the  army  suddenly,  in 
consequence  of  being  unable  to  pay  a  very  considerable  sum,  which  he  had 
lost  to  another  volunteer  at  play.  He  had  changed  his  name,  and  taken  up 
his  residence  at  Ilotterdam,  where  he  had  insinuated  himself  into  the  good 
graces  of  an  ancient  and  rich  burgomaster,  and,  by  his  handsome  person 
and  graceful  manners,  captivated  the  affections  of  his  only  child,  a  very 
young  person,  of  great  beauty,  and  the  heiress  of  much  wealth.  Delighted 
with  the  specious  attractions  of  his  proposed  son-in-law,  the  wealthy  mer¬ 
chant —  whose  idea  of  the  British  character  was  too  high  to  admit  of  his 
taking  any  precaution  to  acquire  evidence  of  his  condition  and  circum¬ 
stances —  gave  his  consent  to  the  marriage.  It  was  about  to  be  celebrated 
in  the  principal  church  of  the  city,  when  it  was  interrupted  by  a  singular 
occurrence. 

Captain  Falconer  having  been  detached  to  Rotterdam  to  bring  up  a  part 
of  the  brigade  of  Scottish  auxiliaries,  who  were  in  quarters  there,  a  person 
of  consideration  in  the  town,  to  whom  he  had  been  formerly  known,  pro¬ 
posed  to  him  for  amusement  to  go  to  the  high  church,  to  see  a  countryman 
of  his  own  married  to  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  burgomaster.  Captain  Fal¬ 
coner  went  accordingly,  accompanied  by  his  Dutch  acquaintance  with  a 
party  of  his  friends,  and  two  or  three  officers  of  the  Scotch  brigade.  His 
astonishment  may  be  conceived  when  he  saw  his  own  brother-in-law,  a  mar¬ 
ried  man,  on  the  point  of  leading  to  the  altar  the  innocent  and  beautiful 
creature,  upon  whom  he  was  about  to  practise  a  base  and  unmanly  deceit. 
Ho  proclaimed  his  villany  on  the  spot,  and  the  marriage  was  interrupted  of 


404 


WAV  E  RLE  Y  NOVELS. 


course.  But  against  the  opinion  of  more  thinking  men,  who  considered  Sir 
Philip  Forester  as  having  thrown  himself  out  of  the  rank  of  men  of  honour, 
Captain  Falconer  admitted  him  to  the  privilege  of  such,  accepted  a  chal¬ 
lenge  from  him,  and  in  the  rencounter  received  a  mortal  wound.  Such  are 
the  ways  of  Heaven,  mysterious  in  our  eyes.  Lady  Forester  never  recovered 
the  shock  of  this  dismal  intelligence. 


“  And  did  this  tragedy,^’  said  I,  “  take  place  exactly  at  the  time  when 
the  scene  in  the  mirror  was  exhibited  V’ 

“  It  is  hard  to  be  obliged  to  maim  one’s  story,”  answered  my  aunt ;  “  but, 
to  speak  the  truth,  it  happened  some  days  sooner  than  the  apparition  was 
exhibited.” 

“  And  so  there  remained  a  possibility,”  said  I,  “  that  by  some  secret  and 
speedy  communication  the  artist  might  have  received  early  intelligence  of 
that  incident.” 

“  The  incredulous  pretended  so,”  replied  my  aunt. 

“What  became  of  the  adept?”  demanded  I. 

“  Why,  a  warrant  came  down  shortly  afterwards  to  arrest  him  for  high- 
treason,  as  an  agent  of  the  Chevalier  St.  George ;  and  Lady  Bothwell,  re¬ 
collecting  the  hints  which  had  escaped  the  Doctor,  an  ardent  friend  of  the 
Protestant  succession,  did  then  call  to  remembrance,  that  this  man  was 
chiefly  joroTie  am?)ng  the  ancient  matrons  of  her  own  political  persuasion. 
It  certainly  seemed  probable  that  intelligence  from  the  continent,  which 
could  easily  have  been  transmitted  by  an  active  and  powerful  agent,  might 
have  enabled  him  to  prepare  such  a  scene  of  phantasmagoria  as  she  had 
herself  witnessed.  Yet  there  were  so  many  difl&culties  in  assigning  a  natu¬ 
ral  explanation,  that,  to  the  day  of  her  death,  she  remained  in  great  doubt 
on  the  subject,  and  much  disposed  to  cut  the  Gordian  knot,  by  admitting 
the  existence  of  supernatural  agency.” 

“But,  my  dear  aunt,”  said  I,  “what  became  of  the  man  of  skill?” 

“  Oh,  he  was  too  good  a  fortune-teller  not  to  be  able  to  foresee  that  his 
own  destiny  would  be  tragical  if  he  waited  the  arrival  of  the  man  with  the 
silver  greyhound  upon  his  sleeve.  He  made,  as  we  say,  a  moonlight  flitting, 
and  was  nowhere  to  be  seen  or  heard  of.  Some  noise  there  was  about 
papers  or  letters  found  in  the  house,  but  it  died  away,  and  Doctor  Baptisti 
Damiotti  was  soon  as  little  talked  of  as  Galen  or  Hippocrates.” 

“And  Sir  Philip  Forester,”  said  I,  “did  he  too  vanish  for  ever  from  the 
public  scene  ?” 

“  No,”  replied  my  kind  informer.  “  He  was  heard  of  once  more,  and  it 
was  upon  a  remarkable  occasion.  It  is  said  that  we  Scots,  when  there  was 
such  a  nation  in  existence,  have,  among  our  full  peck  of  virtues,  one  or  two 
little  barleycorns  of  vice.  In  particular,  it  is  alleged  that  we  rarely  forgive, 
and  never  forget,  any  injuries  received  ;  that  we  used  to  make  an  idol  of  our 
resentment,  as  poor  Lady  Constance  did  of  her  grief ;  and  are  addicted,  as 
Burns  says,  to  ‘  nursing  our  wrath  to  keep  it  warm.’  Lady  Bothwell  was 
not  without  this  feeling ;  and,  I  believe,  nothing  whatever,  scarce  the 
restoration  of  the  Stuart  line,  could  have  happened  so  delicious  to  her  feel¬ 
ings  as  an  opportunity  of  being  revenged  on  Sir  Philip  Forester,  for  the 
deep  and  double  injury  which  had  deprived  her  of  a  sister  and  of  a  brother. 
But  nothing  of  him  was  heard  or  known  till  many  a  year  had  passed  away.” 

At  length — it  was  on  a  Fastern’s  E’en  (Shrovetide)  assembly,  at  which  the 
whole  fashion  of  Edinburgh  attended,  full  and  frequent,  and  when  Lady 
Bothwell  had  a  seat  amongst  the  lady  patronesses,  that  one  of  the  attendants 
on  the  company  whispered  into  her  ear,  that  a  gentleman  wished  to  speak 
with  her  in  private. 

“In  private?  and  in  an  assembly-room?  —  he  must  be  mad — Tell  him  to 
call  upon  me  to-morrow  morning.” 


Y  AUNT  Margaret’s  mirror. 


405 


“  I  said  so,  my  lady,’’  ans^ve^ed  the  man  ;  “  hut  he  desired  me  to  give  you 
this  paper.” 

She  undid  the  billet,  which  was  curiously  folded  and  sealed.  It  only 
bore  the  words,  “  On  busmess  of  life  and  death  f  written  in  a  hand  which 
she  had  never  seen  before.  Suddenly  it  occurred  to  her,  that  it  might  con¬ 
cern  the  safety  of  some  of  her  political  friends ;  she  therefore  followed  the 
messenger  to  a  small  apartment  where  the  refreshments  were  prepared,  and 
from  which  the  general  company  was  excluded.  She  found  an  old  man, 
who,  at  her  approach,  rose  up  and  bowed  profoundly.  His  appearance 
indicated  a  broken  constitution ;  and  his  dress,  though  sedulously  rendered 
conforming  to  the  etiquette  of  a  ball-room,  was  worn  and  tarnished,  and 
hung  in  folds  about  his  emaciated  person.  Lady  Bothwell  was  about  to 
feel  for  her  purse,  expecting  to  get  rid  of  the  supplicant  at  the  expense  of 
a  little  money,  but  some  fear  of  a  mistake  arrested  her  purpose.  She  there¬ 
fore  gave  the  man  leisure  to  explain  himself. 

“  I  have  the  honour  to  speak  with  the  Lady  Bothwell  ?” 

“  I  am  Lady  Bothwell ;  allow  me  to  say,  that  this  is  no  time  or  place  for 
long  explanations. — What  are  your  commands  with  me?” 

“  Your  ladyship,”  said  the  old  man,  “  had  once  a  sister.” 

“  True  ;  whom  I  loved  as  my  own  soul.” 

“  And  a  brother.” 

“  The  bravest,  the  kindest,  the  most  affectionate !”  said  Lady  Bothwell. 

“  Both  these  beloved  relatives  you  lost  by  the  fault  of  an  unfortunate 
man,”  continued  the  stranger. 

“  By  the  crime  of  an  unnatural,  bloody-minded  murderer,”  said  the  lady. 

“  I  arn  answered,”  replied  the  old  man,  bowing,  as  if  to  withdraw. 

“  Stop,  sir,  I  command  you,”  said  Lady  Bothwell. — “  Who  are  you,  that, 
at  such  a  place  and  time,  come  to  recall  these  horrible  recollections?  I 
insist  upon  knowing.” 

“I  am  one  who  intends  Lady  Bothwell  no  injury;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
to  offer  her  the  means  of  doing  a  deed  of  Christian  charity,  which  the  world 
would  wonder  at,  and  which  Heaven  would  reward ;  but  I  find  her  in  no 
temper  for  such  a  sacrifice  as  I  was  prepared  to  ask.” 

”  Speak  out,  sir ;  what  is  your  meaning?”  said  Lady  Bothwell. 

“  The  wretch  that  has  wronged  you  so  deeply,”  rejoined  the  stranger,  “  is 
now  on  his  death-bed.  His  days  have  been  days  of  misery,  his  nights  have 
been  sleepless  hours  of  anguish  —  yet  he  cannot  die  without  your  forgive¬ 
ness.  His  life  has  been  an  unremitting  penance  —  yet  he  dares  not  part 
from  his  burden  while  your  curses  load  his  soul.” 

“  Tell  him,”  said  Lady  Bothwell,  sternly,  “  to  ask  pardon  of  that  Being 
whom  he  has  so  greatly  offended ;  not  of  an  erring  mortal  like  himself. 
What  could  my  forgiveness  avail  him  ?” 

“  Much,”  answered  the  old  man.  “  It  will  be  an  earnest  of  that  which 
he  may  then  venture  to  ask  from  his  Creator,  lady,  and  from  yours.  Re¬ 
member,  Lady  Bothwell,  you  too  have  a  death-lDed  to  look  forward  to ;  your 
soul  may,  all  human  souls  must,  feel  the  awe  of  facing  the  judgment  seat, 
with  the  wounds  of  an  untented  conscience,  raw,  and  rankling — what 
thought  would  it  be  then  that  should  whisper,  ‘  I  have  given  no  mercy,  how 
then  shall  I  ask  it?’  ” 

“  Man,  whosoever  thou  mayst  be,”  replied  Lady  Bothwell,  “  urge  me  not 
so  cruelly.  It  would  be  but  blasphemous  hypocrisy  to  utter  with  my  lips 
the  words  which  every  throb  of  my  heart  protests  against.  They  would 
open  the  earth  and  give  to  light  the  wasted  form  of  my  sister  —  the  bloody 
form  of  my  murdered  brother  —  forgive  him?  —  Never,  never!” 

“  Great  God  1”  cried  the  old  man,  holding  up  his  hands,  “  is  it  thus  the 
worms  which  thou  hast  called  out  of  dust  obey  the  commands  of  their 
Maker?  Farewell,  proud  and  unforgiving  woman.  Exult  that  thou  hast 
added  to  a  death  in  want  and  pain  the  agonies  of  religious  despair ;  but 


40G  WAVER  LEY  NOVELS. 

never  again  mock  Heaven  by  petitioning  for  the  pardon  which  thou  haat 
refused  to  grant/’ 

He  was  turning  from  her. 

“  Stop,”  she  exclaimed  ;  “  I  will  try  ;  yes,  I  will  try  to  pardon  him.” 
“Gracious  lady,”  said  the  old  man,  “you  will  relieve  the  over-burdened 
soul,  which  dare  not  sever  itself  from  its  sinful  companion  of  earth  without 
being  at  peace  wdth  you.  What  do  I  know — your  forgiveness  may  perhaps 
preserve  for  penitence  the  dregs  of  a  wretched  life.” 

“  Ha !”  said  the  lady,  as  a  sudden  light  broke  on  her,  “  it  is  the  villain 
himself!”  And  grasping  Sir  Philip  Forester — for  it  was  he,  and  no  other — 
by  the  collar,  she  raised  a  cry  of  “  Murder,  murder !  Seize  the  murderer  1” 
At  an  exclamation  so  singular,  in  such  a  place,  the  company  thronged 
into  the  apartment,  but  Sir  Philip  Forester  was  no  longer  there.  He  had 
forcibly  extricated  himself  from  Lady  Bothwell’s  hold,  and  had  run  out  of 
the  apartment  which  opened  on  the  landing-place  of  the  stair.  There 
seemed  no  escape  in  that  direction,  for  there  were  several  persons  coming 
up  the  steps,  and  others  descending.  But  the  unfortunate  man  was  des¬ 
perate.  He  threw  himself  over  the  balustrade,  and  alighted  safely  in  the 
lobby,  though  a  leap  of  fifteen  feet  at  least,  then  dashed  into  the  street  and 
was  lost  in  darkness.  Some  of  the  Bothwell  family  made  pursuit,  and,  had 
they  come  up  with  the  fugitive,  they  might  have  perhaps  slain  him ;  for  in 
those  days  men’s  blood  ran  warm  in  their  veins.  But  the  police  did  not 
interfere ;  the  matter  most  criminal  having  happened  long  since,  and  in  a 
foreign  land.  Indeed,  it  was  always  thought,  that  this  extraordinary  scene 
originated  in  a  hypocritical  experiment,  by  which  Sir  Philip  desired  to 
ascertain  whether  he  might  return  to  his  native  country  in  safety  from  the 
resentment  of  a  fiimily  which  he  had  injured  so  deeply.  As  the  result  fell 
out  so  contrary  to  his  wishes,  he  is  believed  to  have  returned  to  the  Conti¬ 
nent,  and  there  died  in  exile. 

So  closed  the  tale  of  the  Mysterious  Mirror. 


THE  TAPESTRIED  CHAMBER; 


OR, 

THE  LADY  IN  THE  SACQUE. 


This  is  another  little  story,  from  the  Keepsake  of  1828.  It  was  told  to 
me  many  years  ago,  by  the  late  Miss  Anna  Seward,  who,  among  other 
accomplishments  that  rendered  her  an  amusing  inmate  in  a  country  house, 
had  that  of  recounting  narratives  of  this  sort  with  very  considerable  effect; 
much  greater,  indeed,  than  any  one  would  be  apt  to  guess  from  the  style  of 
her  written  performances.  There  are  hours  and  moods  when  most  people 
are  not  displeased  to  listen  to  such  things ;  and  I  have  heard  some  of  the 
greatest  and  wisest  of  my  contemporaries  take  their  share  in  telling  them. 

August,  1831. 


The  following  narrative  is  given  from  the  pen,  so  far  as  memory  permits, 
in  the  same  character  in  which  it  was  presented  to  the  author’s  ear ;  nor 
has  he  claim  to  farther  praise,  or  to  be  more  deeply  censured,  than  in  pro¬ 
portion  to  the  good  or  bad  judgment  which  he  has  employed  in  selecting 
his  materials,  as  he  has  studiously  avoided  any  attempt  at  ornament,  which* 
might  interfere  with  the  simplicity  of  the  tale. 

At  the  same  time,  it  must  be  admitted,  that  the  particular  class  of  stories 
which  turns  on  the  marvellous,  possesses  a  stronger  influence  when  told 
than  when  committed  to  print.  The  volume  taken  up  at  noonday,  though 
rehearsing  the  same  incidents,  conveys  a  much  more  feeble  impression  than 
is  achieved  by  the  voice  of  the  speaker  on  a  circle  of  fireside  auditors,  who 
hang  upon  the  narrative  as  the  narrator  details  the  minute  incidents  which 
serve  to  give  it  authenticity,  and  lowers  his  voice  with  an  affectation  of 
mystery  while  he  approaches  the  fearful  and  wonderful  part.  It  was  with 
such  advantages  that  the  present  writer  heard  the  following  events  related, 
more  than  twenty  years  since,  by  the  celebrated  Miss  Seward,  of  Litchfield, 
who,  to  her  numerous  accomplishments,  added,  in  a  remarkable  degree,  the 
power  of  narrative  in  private  conversation.  In  its  present  form,  the  tale 
must  necessarily  lose  all  the  interest  which  was  attached  to  it,  by  the  flexible 
voice  and  intelligent  features  of  the  gifted  narrator.  Yet  still,  read  aloud, 
to  an  undoubting  audience  by  the  doubtful  light  of  the  closing  evening,  or 
in  silence,  by  a  decaying  taper,  and  amidst  the  solitude  of  a  half-lighted 
apartment,  it  may  redeem  its  character  as  a  good  ghost  story.  Miss  Seward 
always  affirmed  that  she  had  derived  her  information  from  an  authentic 
source,  although  she  suppressed  the  names  of  the  two  persons  chiefly  con¬ 
cerned.  I  will  not  avail  myself  of  any  particulars  I  may  have  since  received 
concerning  the  localities  of  the  detail,  but  suffer  them  to  rest  under  the 


408 


W  A  V  E  R  L  E  Y  NOVELS. 


same  general  description  in  which  they  were  first  related  to  me ;  and,  fur 
the  same  reason,  I  will  not  add  to,  or  diminish  the  narrative,  by  any  circum¬ 
stances,  whether  more  or  less  material,  but  simply  rehearse,  as  I  heard  it, 
a  story  of  supernatural  terror. 

About  the  end  of  the  American  war,  when  the  officers  of  Lord  Corn¬ 
wallis’s  army,  which  surrendered  at  York-town,  and  others,  who  had  been 
made  prisoners  during  the  impolitic  and  ill-fated  controversy,  were  return¬ 
ing  to  their  own  country,  to  relate  their  adventures,  and  repose  themselves 
after  their  fatigues ;  there  was  amongst  them  a  general  officer,  to  whom 
Miss  S.  ^ave  the  name  of  Browne,  but  merely,  as  I  understood,  to  save  the 
inconvenience  of  introducing  a  nameless  agent  in  the  narrative.  He  was 
an  officer  of  merit,  as  well  as  a  gentleman  of  high  consideration  for  family 
and  attainments. 

Some  business  had  carried  General  Browne  upon  a  tour  through  the 
western  counties,  when,  in  the  conclusion  of  a  morning  stage,  he  found 
himself  in  the  vicinity  of  a  small  country  town,  which  presented  a  scene  of 
uncommon  beauty,  and  of  a  character  peculiarly  English. 

The  little  town,  with  its  stately  church,  whose  tower  bore  testimony  to 
the  devotion  of  ages  long  past,  lay  amidst  pasture  and  corn-fields  of  small 
extent,  but  bounded  and  divided  with  hedge-row  timber  of  great  age  and 
size.  There  were  few  marks  of  modern  improvement.  The  environs  of 
the  place  intimated  neither  the  solitude  of  decay,  nor  the  bustle  of  novelty; 
the  houses  were  old,  but  in  good  repair;  and  the  beautiful  little  river  mur¬ 
mured  freely  on  its  way  to  the  left  of  the  town,  neither  restrained  by  a  dam, 
nor  bordered  by  a  towing-path. 

Upon  a  gentle  eminence,  nearly  a  mile  to  the  southward  of  the  town, 
were  seen,  amongst  many  venerable  oaks  and  tangled  thickets,  the  turrets 
of  a  castle,  as  old  as  the  wars  of  York  and  Lancaster,  but  which  seemed  to 
have  received  important  alterations  during  the  age  of  Elizabeth  and  her 
successors.  It  had  not  been  a  place  of  great  size ;  but  whatever  accommo¬ 
dation  it  formerly  afforded,  was,  it  must  be  supposed,  still  to  be  obtained 
within  its  walls  ;  at  least,  such  was  the  inference  which  General  Browne 
drew  from  observing  the  smoke  arise  merrily  from  several  of  the  ancient 
wreathed  and  carved  chimney-stalks.  The  wall  of  the  park  ran  alongside 
.  of  the  highway  for  two  or  three  hundred  yards ;  and  through  the  different 
points  by  which  the  eye  found  glimpses  into  the  woodland  scenery,  it  seemed 
to  be  well  stocked.  Other  points  of  view  opened  in  succession  ;  now  a  full 
one,  of  the  front  of  the  old  castle,  and  now  a  side  glimpse  at  its  particular 
towers  ;  the  former  rich  in  all  the  bizarrerie  of  the  Elizabethan  school, 
while  the  simple  and  solid  strength  of  other  parts  of  the  building  seemed 
to  show  that  they  had  been  raised  more  for  defence  than  ostentation. 

Delighted  with  the  partial  glimpses  which  he  obtained  of  the  castle  through 
the  woods  and  glades  by  which  this  ancient  feudal  fortress  was  surrounded, 
our  military  traveller  was  determined  to  inquire  whether  it  might  not  deserve 
a  nearer  view,  and  whether  it  contained  family  pictures  or  other  objects  of 
curiosity  worthy  of  a  stranger’s  visit ;  when,  leaving  the  vicinity  of  the 
park,  he  rolled  through  a  clean  and  well-paved  street,  and  stopped  at  the 
door  of  a  well-frequented  inn. 

Before  ordering  horses  to  proceed  on  his  journey.  General  Browne  made 
inquiries  concerning  the  proprietor  of  the  chateau  which  had  so  attracted 
his  admiration,  and  was  equally  surprised  and  pleased  at  hearing  in  reply 
a  nobleman  named  whom  we  shall  call  Lord  Woodville.  How  fortunate ! 
Much  of  Browne’s  early  recollections,  both  at  school  and  at  college,  had 
been  connected  with  young  Woodville,  whom,  by  a  few  questions,  he  now 
ascertained  to  be  the  same  with  the  owner  of  this  fair  domain.  He  had 
been  raised  to  the  peerage  by  the  decease  of  his  father  a  few  months  before, 
and,  as  the  General  learned  from  the  landlord,  the  term  of  mourning  being 


THE  TAPESTRIED  CHAMBER. 


409 


ended,  was  now  taking  possession  of  his  paternal  estate,  in  the  jovial  season 
of  merry  autumn,  accompanied  by  a  select  party  of  friends  to  enjoy  the 
sports  of  a  country  famous  for  game. 

This  was  delightful  news  to  our  traveller.  Frank  Woodville  had  been 
Richard  Browne’s  fag  at  Eton,  and  his  chosen  intimate  at  Christ  Church  ; 
their  pleasures  and  their  tasks  had  been  the  same ;  and  the  honest  soldier’s 
heart  warmed  to  find  his  early  friend  in  possession  of  so  delightful  a  resi¬ 
dence,  and  of  an  estate,  as  the  landlord  assured  him  with  a  nod  and  a  wink, 
fully  adequate  to  maintain  and  add  to  his  dignity.  Nothing  was  more 
natural  than  that  the  traveller  should  suspend  a  journey,  which  there  was 
nothing  to  render  hurried,  to  pay  a  visit  to  an  old  friend  under  such  agree¬ 
able  circumstances. 

The  fresh  horses,  therefore,  had  only  the  brief  task  of  conveying  the 
General’s  travelling  carriage  to  Woodville  Castle.  A  porter  admitted  them 
at  a  modern  Gothic  Lodge,  built  in  that  style  to  correspond  with  the  Castle 
itself,  and  at  the  same  time  rang  a  bell  to  give  warning  of  the  approach  of 
visitors.  Apparently  the  sound  of  the  bell  had  suspended  the  separation 
of  the  company,  bent  on  the  various  amusements  of  the  morning ;  for,  on 
entering  the  court  of  the  chateau,  several  young  men  were  lounging  about 
in  their  sporting  dresses,  looking  at,  and  criticising,  the  dogs  which  the 
keepers  held  in  readiness  to  attend  their  pastime.  As  General  Browne 
alighted,  the  young  lord  came  to  the  gate  of  the  hall,  and  for  an  instant 
gazed,  as  at  a  stranger,  upon  the  countenance  of  his  friend,  on  which  war, 
with  its  fatigues  and  its  wounds,  had  made  a  great  alteration.  But  the 
uncertainty  lasted  no  longer  than  till  the  visitor  had  spoken,  and  the  hearty 
greeting  which  followed  was  such  as  can  only  be  exchanged  betwixt  those 
who  have  passed  together  the  merry  days  of  careless  boyhood  or  early  youth. 

“  If  I  could  have  formed  a  wish,  my  dear  Browne,”  said  Lord  AVoodville, 
“  it  would  have  been  to  have  you  here,  of  all  men,  upon  this  occasion,  which 
my  friends  are  good  enough  to  hold  as  a  sort  of  holyday.  Do  not  think  you 
have  been  unwatched  during  the  years  you  have  been  absent  from  us.  I 
have  traced  you  through  your  dangers,  your  triumphs,  your  misfortunes, 
and  was  delighted  to  see  that,  whether  in  victory  or  defeat,  the  name  of  my 
old  friend  was  always  distinguished  with  applause.” 

The  General  made  a  suitable  reply,  and  congratulated  his  friend  on  his 
new  dignities,  and  the  possession  of  a  place  and  domain  so  beautiful. 

“  Nay,  you  have  seen  nothing  of  it  as  yet,”  said  Lord  Woodville,  “  and  I 
trust  you  do  not  mean  to  leave  us  till  you  are  better  acquainted  with  it.  It 
is  true,  I  confess,  that  my  present  party  is  pretty  large,  and  the  old  house, 
like  other  places  of  the  kind,  does  not  possess  so  much  accommodation  as 
the  extent  of  the  outward  walls  appears  to  promise.  But  we  can  give  you 
a  comfortable  old-fashioned  room ;  and  I  venture  to  suppose  that  your  cam¬ 
paigns  have  taught  you  to  bo  glad  of  worse  quarters.” 

The  General  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  laughed.  “  I  presume,”  he 
said,  “  the  worst  apartment  in  your  chateau  is  considerably  superior  to  the 
old  tobacco-cask,  in  which  I  was  fain  to  take  up  my  night’s  lodging  when  I 
was  in  the  Bush,  as  the  Virginians  call  it,  with  the  light  corps.  There  I 
lay,  like  Diogenes  himself,  so  delighted  with  ray  covering  from  the  elements, 
that  I  made  a  vain  attempt  to  have  it  rolled  on  to  my  next  quarters  ;  but  my 
commander  for  the  time  would  give  w'ay  to  no  such  luxurious  provision,  and 
I  took  farewell  of  my  beloved  cask  with  tears  in  my  eyes.” 

“Well,  then,  since  you  do  not  fear  your  quarters,”  said  Lord  Woodville, 
“  you  will  stay  with  me  a  week  at  least.  Of  guns,  dogs,  fishing-rods,  flies, 
and  means  of  sport  by  sea  and  land,  we  have  enough  and  to  spare :  you 
cannot  pitch  on  an  amusement,  but  we  will  pitch  on  the  means  of  pursuing 
it.  But  if  you  prefer  the  gun  and  pointers,  I  will  go  with  you  myself,  and 
see  whether  you  have  mended  your  shooting  since  you  have  been  amongst 
the  Indians  of  the  back  settlements.” 

2  K 


410 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


The  General  gladly  accepted  his  friendly  host’s  proposal  in  all  its  points. 
After  a  morning  of  manly  exercise,  the  company  met  at  dinner,  where  it 
was  the  delight  of  Lord  Woodville  to  conduce  to  the  display  of  the  high 
properties  of  his  recovered  friend,  so  as  to  recommend  him  to  his  guests, 
most  of  whom  were  persons  of  distinction.  He  led  General  Browne  to 
speak  of  the  scenes  he  had  witnessed  ;  and  as  every  word  marked  alike  the 
brave  ofi&cer  and  the  sensible  man,  who  retained  possession  of  his  cool 
judgment  under  the  most  imminent  dangers,  the  company  looked  upon  the 
soldier  with  general  respect,  as  no  one  who  had  proved  himself  possessed 
of  an  uncommon  portion  of  personal  courage  —  that  attribute,  of  all  others, 
of  which  every  body  desires  to  be  thought  possessed. 

The  day  at  AVoodville  Castle  ended  as  usual  in  such  mansions.  The  hos¬ 
pitality  stopped  within  the  limits  of  good  order ;  music,  in  which  the  young 
lord  was  a  proficient,  succeeded  to  the  circulation  of  the  bottle :  cards  and 
billiards,  for  those  who  preferred  such  amusements,  were  in  readiness :  but 
the  exercise  of  the  morning  required  early  hours,  and  not  long  after  eleven 
o’clock  the  guests  began  to  retire  to  their  several  apartments. 

The  young  lord  himself  conducted  his  friend.  General  Browne,  to  the 
chamber  destined  for  him,  which  answered  the  description  he  had  given  of 
it,  being  comfortable,  but  old-fashioned.  The  bed  was  of  the  massive  form 
used  in  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  the  curtains  of  faded  silk, 
heavily  trimmed  with  tarnished  gold.  But  then  the  sheets,  pillows,  and 
blankets  looked  delightful  to  the  campaigner,  when  he  thought  of  his  man¬ 
sion,  the  cask.  There  was  an  air  of  gloom  in  the  tapestry  hangings,  which, 
with  their  worn-out  graces,  curtained  the  walls  of  the  little  chamber,  and 
gently  undulated  as  the  autumnal  breeze  found  its  way  through  the  ancient 
lattice-window,  which  pattered  and  M'histled  as  the  air  gained  entrance. 
The  toilet  too,  with  its  mirror,  turbaned,  after  the  manner  of  the  beginning 
of  the  century,  with  a  coiffure  of  murrey-coloured  silk,  and  its  hundred 
strange-shaped  boxes,  providing  for  arrangements  which  had  been  obsolete 
for  more  than  fifty  years,  had  an  antique,  and  in  so  far  a  melancholy,  aspect. 
But  nothing  could  blaze  more  brightly  and  cheerfully  than  the  two  large 
wax  candles ;  or  if  aught  could  rival  them,  it  was  the  flaming  bickering 
fagots  in  the  chimney,  that  sent  at  once  their  gleam  and  their  warmth 
through  the  snug  apartment ;  which,  notwithstanding  the  general  antiquity 
of  its  appearance,  was  not  wanting  in  the  least  convenience  that  modern 
habits  rendered  either  necessary  or  desirable. 

“  This  is  an  old-fashioned  sleeping  apartment.  General,^’  said  the  young 
lord ;  “  but  I  hope  you  will  find  nothing  that  makes  you  envy  your  old 
tobacco-cask.’^ 

“  I  am  not  particular  respecting  my  lodgings,”  replied  the  General ;  “  yet 
were  I  to  make  any  choice,  I  would  prefer  this  chamber  by  many  degrees, 
to  the  gayer  and  more  modern  rooms  of  your  family  mansion.  Believe  me, 
that  when  I  unite  its  modern  air  of  comfort  with  its  venerable  antiquity,  and 
recollect  that  it  is  your  lordship’s  property,  I  shall  feel  in  better  quarters 
here,  than  if  I  were  in  the  best  hotel  London  could  afibrd.” 

“  I  trust — I  have  no  doubt — that  you  will  find  yourself  as  comfortable  as 
I  wish  you,  my  dear  General,”  said  the  young  nobleman ;  and  once  more 
bidding  his  guest  good-night,  he  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  withdrew. 

The  General  again  looked  round  him,  and  internally  congratulating  him¬ 
self  on  his  return  to  peaceful  life,  the  comforts  of  which  were  endeared  by 
the  recollection  of  the  hardships  and  dangers  he  had  lately  sustained,  un¬ 
dressed  himself,  and  prepared  himself  for  a  luxurious  night’s  rest. 

Here,  contrary  to  the  custom  of  this  species  of  tale,  we  leave  the  General 
in  possession  of  his  apartment  until  the  next  morning. 

The  company  assembled  for  breakfast  at  an  early  hour,  but  without  the 
appearance  of  General  Browne,  who  seemed  the  guest  that  Lord  Woodville 
was  desirous  of  honouring  above  all  whom  his  hospitality  had  assembled 


THE  TAPESTRIED  CHAMBER. 


411 


around  him.  lie  more  than  once  expressed  surprise  at  the  General’s 
absence,  and  at  length  sent  a  servant  to  make  inquiry  after  him.  The  man 
brought  back  information  that  General  Browne  had  been  walking  abroad 
since  an  early  hour  of  the  morning,  in  defiance  of  the  weather,  which  was 
misty  and  ungenial. 

“The  custom  of  a  soldier,”  —  said  the  young  nobleman  to  his  friends ; 
“  many  of  them  acquire  habitual  vigilance,  and  cannot  sleep  after  the  early 
hour  at  which  their  duty  usually  commands  them  to  be  alert.” 

Yet  the  explanation  which  Lord  Woodville  thus  offered  to  the  company 
seemed  hardly  satisfactory  to  his  own  mind,  and  it  was  in  a  fit  of  silence 
and  abstraction  that  he  awaited  the  return  of  the  General.  It  took  place 
near  an  hour  after  the  breakfast  bell  had  rung.  He  looked  fatigued  and 
feverish.  Ilis  hair,  the  powdering  and  arrangement  of  which  was  at  this 
time  one  of  the  most  important  occupations  of  a  man’s  whole  day,  and 
marked  his  fashion  as  much  as,  in  the  present  time,  the  tying  of  a  cravat, 
or  the  want  of  one,  was  dishevelled,  uncurled,  void  of  powder,  and  dank 
with  dew.  Ilis  clothes  were  huddled  on  with  a  careless  negligence,  remark¬ 
able  in  a  military  man,  whose  real  or  supposed  duties  are  usually  held  to 
include  some  attention  to  the  toilet;  and  his  looks  were  haggard  and 
ghastly  in  a  peculiar  degree. 

“  So  you  have  stolen  a  march  upon  us  this  morning,  my  dear  General,” 
said  Lord  Woodville;  “or  you  have  not  found  your  bed  so  much  to  your 
mind  as  I  had  hoped  and  you  seemed  to  expect.  IIow  did  you  rest  last 
night?” 

“  Oh,  excellently  well !  remarkably  well !  never  better  in  my  life” — said 
General  Browne  rapidly,  and  yet  with  an  air  of  embarrassment  which  was 
obvious  to  his  friend.  lie  then  hastily  swallowed  a  cup  of  tea,  and  neglect¬ 
ing  or  refusing  whatever  else  was  offered,  seemed  to  fall  into  a  fit  of 
abstraction. 

“  You  will  take  the  gun  to-day.  General ;”  said  his  friend  and  host,  but 
had  to  repeat  the  question  twice  ere  he  received  the  abrupt  answer,  “  No, 
my  lord ;  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  have  the  honour  of  spending  another  day 
with  your  lordship ;  my  post  horses  are  ordered,  and  will  be  here  directly.” 

All  who  were  present  showed  surprise,  and  Lord  Woodville  immediately 
replied,  “  Post  horses,  my  good  friend  !  what  can  you  possibly  want  with 
them,  when  you  promised  to  stay  with  me  quietly  for  at  least  a  week?” 

“  I  believe,”  said  the  General,  obviously  much  embarrassed,  “  that  I 
might,  in  the  pleasure  of  my  first  meeting  with  your  lordship,  have  said 
something  about  stopping  here  a  few  days ;  but  I  have  since  found  it  alto¬ 
gether  impossible.” 

“  That  is  very  extraordinary,”  answered  the  young  nobleman.  “  You 
seemed  quite  disengaged  yesterday,  and  you  cannot  have  had  a  summons 
to-day ;  for  our  post  has  not  come  up  from  the  town,  and  therefore  you 
cannot  have  received  any  letters.” 

General  Browne,  without  giving  any  farther  explanation,  muttered  some¬ 
thing  of  indispensable  business,  and  insisted  on  the  absolute  necessity  of 
his  departure  in  a  manner  which  silenced  all  opposition  on  the  part  of 
his  host,  who  saw  that  his  resolution  was  taken,  and  forbore  farther 
importunity.  * 

“  At  least,  however,”  he  said,  “  permit  me,  my  dear  Browne,  since  go  you 
will  or  must,  to  show  you  the  view  from  the  terrace,  which  the  mist,  that  is 
now  rising,  will  soon  display.” 

He  threw  open  a  sash  window,  and  stepped  down  upon  the  terrace  as  he 
spoke.  The  General  followed  him  mechanically,  but  seemed  little  to  attend 
to  what  his  host  was  saying,  as,  looking  across  an  extended  and  rich 
prospect,  he  pointed  out  the  different  objects  worthy  of  observation.  Thus 
they  moved  on  till  Lord  Woodville  had  attained  his  purpose  of  drawing  bis 


412 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


guest  entirely  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  company,  when,  turning  round 
upon  him  with  an  air  of  great  solemnity,  he  addressed  him  thus: 

“  Richard  Browne,  my  old  and  very  dear  friend,  we  are  now  alone.  Let 
me  conjure  you  to  answer  me  upon  the  word  of  a  friend,  and  the  honour  of 
a  soldier.  How  did  you  in  reality  rest  during  last  night 

“  Most  wretchedly  indeed,  my  lord,^^  answered  the  General,  in  the  same 
tone  of  solemnity  ; — “  so  miserably,  that  I  would  not  run  the  risk  of  such  a 
second  night,  not  only  for  all  the  lands  belonging  to  this  castle,  but  for  all 
the  country  which  I  see  from  this  elevated  point  of  view.^^ 

“  This  is  most  extraordinary,^^  said  the  young  lord,  as  if  speaking  to 
himself;  “then  there  must  be  something  in  the  reports  concerning  that 
apartment.’^  Again  turning  to  the  General,  he  said,  “  For  God’s  sake,  my 
dear  friend,  be  candid  with  me,  and  let  me  know  the  disagreeable  parti¬ 
culars,  which  have  befallen  you  under  a  roof,  where,  with  consent  of  the 
owner,  you  should  have  met  nothing  save  comfort.” 

The  General  seemed  distressed  by  this  appeal,  and  paused  a  moment 
before  he  replied.  “  My  dear  lord,”  he  at  length  said,  “  what  happened  to 
me  last  night  is  of  a  nature  so  peculiar  and  so  unpleasant,  that  I  could  hardly 
bring  myself  to  detail  it  even  to  your  lordship,  were  it  not  that,  independent 
of  my  wish  to  gratify  any  request  of  yours,  I  think  that  sincerity  on  my 
part  may  lead  to  some  explanation  about  a  circumstance  equally  painful  and 
mysterious.  To  others,  the  communication  I  am  about  to  make,  might 
place  me  in  the  light  of  a  weak-minded,  superstitious  fool  who  suffered  his 
own  imagination  to  delude  and  bewilder  him  ;  but  you  have  known  me  in 
childhood  and  youth,  and  will  not  suspect  me  of  having  adopted  in  man¬ 
hood  the  feelings  and  frailties  from  which  my  early  years  were  free.”  Here 
he  paused,  and  his  friend  replied : 

“  Do  not  doubt  my  perfect  confidence  in  the  truth  of  your  communication, 
however  strange  it  may  be,”  replied  Lord  Woodville  ;  “I  know  your  firm¬ 
ness  of  disposition  too  well,  to  suspect  you  could  be  made  the  object  of  impo¬ 
sition,  and  am  aware  that  your  honour  and  your  friendship  will  equally 
deter  you  from  exaggerating  whatever  you  may  have  witnessed.” 

“  Well  then,”  said  the  General,  “  I  will  proceed  with  my  story  as  well  as 
I  can,  relying  upon  your  candour;  and  yet  distinctly  feeling  that  I  would 
rather  face  a  battery  than  recall  to  my  mind  the  odious  recollections  of  last 
night.” 

He  paused  a  second  time,  and  then  perceiving  that  Lord  Woodville 
remained  silent  and  in  an  attitude  of  attention,  he  commenced,  though  not 
without  obvious  reluctance,  the  history  of  his  night’s  adventures  in  the 
Tapestried  Chamber. 

“  I  undressed  and  went  to  bed,  so  soon  as  your  lordship  left  me  yesterday 
evening ;  but  the  wood  in  the  chimney,  which  nearly  fronted  my  bed,  blazed 
brightly  and  cheerfully,  and,  aided  by  a  hundred  exciting  recollections  of 
my  childhood  and  youth,  which  had  been  recalled  by  the  unexpected  plea¬ 
sure  of  meeting  your  lordship,  prevented  me  from  falling  immediately 
asleep.  I  ought,  however,  to  say,  that  these  reflections  were  all  of  a  plea¬ 
sant  and  agreeable  kind,  grounded  on  a  sense  of  having  for  a  time  exchanged 
the  labour,  fatigues,  and  dangers  of  my  profession,  for  the  enjoyments  of  a 
peaceful  life,  and  the  reunion  of  those  friendly  and  affecCionate  ties,  which 
I  had  torn  asunder  at  the  rude  summons  of  war. 

“  While  such  pleasing  reflections  were  stealing  over  my  mind,  and  gra¬ 
dually  lulling  me  to  slumber,  I  was  suddenly  aroused  by  a  sound  like  that 
of  the  rustling  of  a  silken  gown,  and  the  tapping  of  a  pair  of  high-heeled 
shoes,  as  if  a  woman  were  walking  in  the  apartment.  Ere  I  could  draw 
the  curtain  to  see  what  the  matter  was,  the  figure  of  a  little  woman  passed 
between  the  bed  and  the  fire.  The  back  of  this  form  was  turned  to  me, 
and  I  could  observe,  from  the  shoulders  and  neck,  it  was  that  of  an  old 
woman,  whose  dress  was  an  old-fashioned  gown,  which,  I  think,  ladies  call 


THE  TAPESTRIED  CHAMBER. 


413 


a  sacque  ;  that  is,  a  sort  of  robe,  completely  loose  in  the  body,  hut  gathered 
into  broad  plaits  upon  tlie  neck  and  shoulders,  which  fall  down  to  tho 
ground,  and  terminate  in  a  species  of  train. 

“  I  thought  tho  intrusion  singular  enough,  but  never  harboured  for  a  mo¬ 
ment  the  idea  that  what  I  saw  was  any  thing  more  than  the  mortal  form  of 
some  old  woman  about  the  establishment,  who  had  a  fancy  to  dress  like  her 
grandmother,  and  who,  having  perhaps  (as  your  lordship  mentioned  that 
you  were  rather  straitened  for  room)  been  dislodged  from  her  chamber  for 
my  accommodation,  had  forgotten  the  circumstance,  and  returned  by  twelve 
to  her  old  haunt.  Under  this  persuasion  I  moved  myself  in  bed  and  coughed 
a  little,  to  make  the  intruder  sensible  of  my  being  in  possession  of  the  pre¬ 
mises.  —  She  turned  slowly  round,  but  gracious  heaven !  my  lord,  what  a 
countenance  did  she  display  to  me !  There  was  no  longer  any  question 
wdiat  she  was,  or  any  thought  of  her  being  a  living  being.  Upon  a  face 
which  wore  the  fixed  features  of  a  corpse,  were  imprinted  the  traces  of  the 
vilest  and  most  hideous  passions  w'hich  had  animated  her  while  she  lived. 
The  body  of  some  atrocious  criminal  seemed  to  have  been  given  up  from 
the  grave,  and  the  soul  restored  from  the  penal  fire,  in  order  to  form,  for  a 
space,  a  union  with  the  ancient  accomplice  of  its  guilt.  I  started  up  in  bed, 
and  sat  upright,  supporting  myself  on  my  palms,  as  I  gazed  on  this  horrible 
spectre.  The  hag  made,  as  it  seemed,  a  single  and  swift  stride  to  the  bed 
where  I  lay,  and  squatted  herself  down  upon  it,  in  precisely  the  same  atti¬ 
tude  which  I  had  assumed  in  the  extremity  of  horror,  advancing  her 
diabolical  countenance  within  half  a  yard  of  mine,  with  a  grin  which 
seemed  to  intimate  the  malice  and  the  derision  of  an  incarnate  fiend.^' 

Here  General  Browne  stopped,  and  wiped  from  his  brow  the  cold  perspi¬ 
ration  w'ith  which  the  recollection  of  his  horrible  vision  had  covered  it. 

“  My  lord,^^  he  said,  “  I  am  no  coward.  I  have  been  in  all  the  mortal 
dangers  incidental  to  my  profession,  and  I  may  truly  boast,  that  no  man 
ever  knew  Richard  Browne  dishonour  the  sword  he  wears ;  but  in  these 
horrible  circumstances,  under  the  eyes,  and  as  it  seemed,  almost  in  the 
grasp  of  an  incarnation  of  an  evil  spirit,  all  firmness  forsook  me,  all  man¬ 
hood  melted  from  me  like  wax  in  the  furnace,  and  I  felt  my  hair  indivi¬ 
dually  bristle.  The  current  of  my  life-blood  ceased  to  flow,  and  I  sank 
back  in  a  swoon,  as  very  a  victim  to  panic  terror  as  ever  was  a  village  girl, 
or  a  child  of  ten  years  old.  IIow  long  I  lay  in  this  condition  I  cannot  pre¬ 
tend  to  guess. 

“  But  1  was  roused  by  the  castle  clock  striking  one,  so  loud  that  it  seemed 
as  if  it  were  in  the  very  room.  It  was  some  time  before  I  dared  open  my 
eyes,  lest  they  should  again  encounter  the  horrible  spectacle.  When,  how¬ 
ever,  I  summoned  courage  to  look  up,  she  was  no  longer  visible.  My  first 
idea  was  to  pull  my  bell,  wake  the  servants,  and  remove  to  a  garret  Or  a 
hay-loft,  to  be  ensured  against  a  second  visitation.  Nay,  I  will  confess  the 
truth,  that  my  resolution  was  altered,  not  by  the  shame  of  exposing  myself, 
but  by  the  fear  that,  as  tho  bell-cord  hung  by  the  chimney,  I  might,  in 
making  my  w'ay  to  it,  be  again  crossed  by  the  fiendish  hag,  who,  1  figured 
to  myself,  might  be  still  lurking  about  some  corner  of  the  apartment. 

“  1  will  not  pretend  to  describe  what  hot  and  cold  fever-fits  tormented  mo 
for  the  rest  of  the  night,  through  broken  sleep,  w^eary  vigils,  and  that 
dubious  state  which  forms  the  neutral  ground  between  them.  A  hundred 
terrible  objects  appeared  to  haunt  me ;  but  there  was  the  great  difference 
betwixt  the  vision  which  I  have  described,  and  those  which  followed,  that  I 
knew  the  last  to  be  deceptions  of  my  own  fancy  and  over-excited  nerves. 

“  Day  at  last  appeared,  and  I  rose  from  my  bed  ill  in  health,  and  humi¬ 
liated  in  mind.  1  was  ashamed  of  myself  as  a  man  and  a  soldier,  and  still 
more  so,  at  feeling  my  own  extreme  desire  to  escape  from  the  haunted 
apartment,  which,  however,  conquered  all  other  considerations ;  so  that, 
huddling  on  my  clothes  with  the  most  careless  haste,  I  made  my  escape 

2k2 


414 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


from  yonr  lordship’s  mansion,  to  seek  in  the  open  air  some  relief  to  my 
nervous  system,  shaken  as  it  -was  by  this  horrible  rencounter  with  a  visitant, 
for  such  I  must  believe  her,  from  the  other  world.  Your  lordship  has  now 
heard  the  cause  of  my  discomposure,  and  of  my  sudden  desire  to  leave  your 
hospitable  castle.  In  other  places  I  trust  we  may  often  meet ;  but  God 
protect  me  from  ever  spending  a  second  night  under  that  roof!” 

Strange  as  the  General’s  tale  was,  he  spoke  with  such  a  deep  air  of  con¬ 
viction,  that  it  cut  short  all  the  usual  commentaries  which  are  made  on 
such  stories.  Lord  Woodville  never  once  asked  him  if  he  was  sure  he  did 
not  dream  of  the  apparition,  or  suggested  any  of  the  possibilities  by  which 
it  is  fashionable  to  explain  supernatural  appearances,  as  wild  vagaries  of 
the  fancy,  or  deceptions  of  the  optic  nerves.  On  the  contrary,  he  seemed 
deeply  impressed  with  the  truth  and  reality  of  what  he  had  heard ;  and, 
after  a  considerable  pause,  regretted,  with  much  appearance  of  sincerity, 
that  his  early  friend  should  in  his  house  have  suffered  so  severely. 

“  I  am  the  more  sorry  for  your  pain,  my  dear  Browne,”  he  continued, 
“  that  it  is  the  unhappy,  though  most  unexpected,  result  of  an  experiment 
of  my  own !  You  must  know,  that  for  my  father  and  grandfather’s  time, 
at  least,  the  apartment  which  was  assigned  to  you  last  night,  had  been  shut 
on  account  of  reports  that  it  was  disturbed  by  supernatural  sights  and 
noises.  AVhen  I  came,  a  few  weeks  since,  into  possession  of  the  estate,  I 
thought  the  accommodation,  which  the  castle  afforded  for  my  friends,  was 
not  extensive  enough  to  permit  the  inhabitants  of  the  invisible  world  to 
retain  possession  of  a  comfortable  sleeping  apartment.  I  therefore  caused 
the  Tapestried  Chamber,  as  we  call  it,  to  be  opened ;  and  without  destroy¬ 
ing  its  air  of  antiquity,  I  had  such  new  articles  of  furniture  placed  in  it  as 
became  the  modern  times.  Yet  as  the  opinion  that  the  room  was  haunted 
very  strongly  prevailed  among  the  domestics,  and  was  also  known  in  the 
neighbourhood  and  to  many  of  my  friends,  I  feared  some  prejudice  might 
be  entertained  by  the  first  occupant  of  the  Tapestried  Chamber,  which 
might  tend  to  revive  the  evil  report  which  it  had  laboured  under,  and  so 
disappoint  my  purpose  of  rendering  it  a  useful  part  of  the  house.  I  must 
confess,  my  dear  Browne,  that  your  arrival  yesterday,  agreeable  to  me  for  a 
thousand  reasons  besides,  seemed  the  most  favourable  opportunity  of  re¬ 
moving  the  unpleasant  rumours  which  attached  to  the  room,  since  your 
courage  was  indubitable  and  your  mind  free  of  any  pre-occupation  on  the 
subject.  I  could  not,  therefore,  have  chosen  a  more  fitting  subject  for  my 
experiment.” 

“Upon  my  life,”  said  General  Browne,  somewhat  hastily,  “I  am  infi¬ 
nitely  obliged  to  your  lordship  —  very  particularly  indebted  indeed.  I  am 
likely  to  remember  for  some  time  the  consequences  of  the  experiment,  as 
your  lordship  is  pleased  to  call  it.” 

“  Nay,  now  you  are  unjust,  my  dear  friend,”  said  Lord  Woodville.  “You 
have  only  to  reflect  for  a  single  moment,  in  order  to  be  convinced  that  I 
•could  not  augur  the  possibility  of  the  pain  to  which  you  have  been  so  un¬ 
happily  exposed.  I  was  yesterday  morning  a  complete  sceptic  on  the 
subject  of  supernatural  appearances.  Nay,  I  am  sure  that  had  I  told  you 
M'hat  was  said  about  that  room,  those  very  reports  would  have  induced  you, 
by  your  own  choice,  to  select  it  for  your  accommodation.  It  was  my  mis¬ 
fortune,  perhaps  my  error,  but  really  cannot  be  termed  my  fault,  that  you 
have  been  afiiicted  so  strangely.” 

“  Strangely  indeed  !”  said  the  General,  resuming  his  good  temper  ;  “  and 
I  acknowledge  that  I  have  no  right  to  be  offended  with  your  lordship  for 
treating  me  like  what  I  used  to  think  myself — a  man  of  some  firmness  and 
courage. — But  I  see  my  post  horses  are  arrived,  and  I  must  not  detain  your 
lordship  from  your  amusement.” 

“  Nay,  my  old  friend,”  said  Lord  Woodville,  “  since  you  cannot  stay  with 
us  another  day,  which,  indeed,  I  can  no  longer  urge,  give  me  at  least  half 


THE  TAPESTRIED  CHAMBER. 


415 


an  hour  more.  You  used  to  love  pictures,  and  I  have  a  p:allery  of  portraits, 
some  of  them  by  Vandyke,  representing  ancestry  to  whom  this  property 
and  castle  formerly  belonged.  I  think  that  several  of  them  will  strike  you 
as  possessing  merit.’’ 

General  Browne  accepted  the  invitation,  though  somewhat  unwillingly. 
It  was  evident  he  was  not  to  breathe  freely  or  at  ease  till  he  left  Woodville 
Castle  far  behind  him.  lie  could  not  refuse  his  friend’s  invitation,  how¬ 
ever  ;  and  the  less  so,  that  he  was  a  little  ashamed  of  the  peevishness  which 
he  had  displayed  towards  his  well-meaning  entertainer. 

The  General,  therefore,  followed  Lord  Woodville  through  several  rooms, 
into  a  long  gallery  hung  with  pictures,  which  the  latter  pointed  out  to  his 
guest,  telling  the  names,  and  giving  some  account  of  the  personages  whoso 
portraits  presented  themselves  in  progression.  General  Browne  was  but 
little  interested  in  the  details  which  these  accounts  conveyed  to  him.  They 
were,  indeed,  of  the  kind  which  are  usually  found  in  an  old  family  gallery. 
Here  was  a  cavalier  who  had  ruined  the  estate  in  the  royal  cause  ;  there  a 
fine  lady  who  had  reinstated  it  by  contracting  a  match  with  a  wealthy 
Roundhead.  There  hung  a  gallant  who  had  been  in  danger  for  correspond¬ 
ing  with  the  exiled  Court  at  St.  Germain’s ;  here  one  who  had  taken  arms 
for  William  at  the  Revolution  ;  and  there  a  third  that  had  thrown  his  weight 
alternately  into  the  scale  of  whig  and  tory. 

While  Lord  Woodville  was  cramming  these  words  into  his  guest’s  ear, 
“  against  the  stomach  of  his  sense,”  they  gained  the  middle  of  the  gallery, 
when  he  beheld  General  Browne  suddenly  start,  and  assume  an  attitude 
of  the  utmost  surprise,  not  unmixed  with  fear,  as  his  eyes  were  caught  and 
suddenly  riveted  by  a  portrait  of  an  old  lady  in  a  sacque,  the  fashionable 
dress  of  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

“  There  she  is !”  he  exclaimed ;  “  there  she  is,  in  form  and  features, 
though  inferior  in  demoniac  expression,  to  the  accursed  hag  who  visited  me 
last  night !” 

“If  that  be  the  case,”  said  the  young  nobleman,  “there  can  remain  no 
longer  any  doubt  of  the  horrible  reality  of  your  apparition.  That  is  the 
picture  of  a  wretched  ancestress  of  mine,  of  whose  crimes  a  black  and 
fearful  catalogue  is  recorded  in  a  family  history  in  my  charter-chest.  The 
recital  of  them  would  be  too  horrible ;  it  is  enough  to  say,  that  in  yon  fatal 
apartment  incest  and  unnatural  murder  were  committed.  I  will  restore  it 
to  the  solitude  to  wLich  the  better  judgment  of  those  who  preceded  me  had 
consigned  it ;  and  never  shall  any  one,  so  long  as  I  can  prevent  it,  be  ex¬ 
posed  to  a  repetition  of  the  supernatural  horrors  which  could  shake  such 
courage  as  yours.” 

Thus  the  friends,  who  had  met  with  such  glee,  parted  in  a  very  different 
mood;  Lord  Woodville  to  command  the  Tapestried  Chamber  to  be  unman¬ 
tled,  and  the  door  built  up ;  and  General  Browne  to  seek  in  some  less 
beautiful  country,  and  with  some  less  dignified  friend,  forgetfulness  of  the 
painful  night  which  he  had  passed  in  Woodville  Castle. 


DEATH  OF  THE  LAIED’S  JOCK. 


[The  manner  in  which  this  trifle  was  introduced  at  the  time  to  Mr.  F. 
M.  Reynolds,  editor  of  the  Keepsake  of  1828,  leaves  no  occasion  for  a 
preface.] 

Augthst,  1831. 


TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  KEEPSAKE. 

You  have  asked  me,  sir,  to  point  out  a  subject  for  the  pencil,  and  I  feel 
the  difficulty  of  complying  with  your  request ;  although  I  am  not  certainly 
unaccustomed  to  literary  composition,  or  a  total  stranger  to  the  stores  of 
history  and  tradition,  which  afford  the  best  copies  for  the  painter’s  art. 
But  although  sicut  pictura  poesis  is  an  ancient  and  undisputed  axiom  — 
although  poetry  and  painting  both  address  themselves  to  the  same  object 
of  exciting  the  human  imagination,  by  presenting  to  it  pleasing  or  sublime 
images  of  ideal  scenes ;  yet  the  one  conveying  itself  through  the  ears  to 
the  understanding,  and  the  other  applying  itself  only  to  the  eyes,  the  sub¬ 
jects  which  are  best  suited  to  the  bard  or  tale-teller  are  often  totally  unfit 
for  painting,  where  the  artist  must  present  in  a  single  glance  all  that  his 
art  has  power  to  tell  us.  The  artist  can  neither  recapitulate  the  past  nor 
intimate  the  future.  The  single  now  is  all  which  he  can  present ;  and 
hence,  unquestionably,  many  subjects  which  delight  us  in  poetry,  or  in 
narrative,  whether  real  or  fictitious,  cannot  with  advantage  be  transferred 
to  the  canvass. 

Being  in  some  degree  aware  of  these  difficulties,  though  doubtless  unac¬ 
quainted  both  with  their  extent,  and  the  means  by  which  they  may  be 
modified  or  surmounted,  I  have,  nevertheless,  ventured  to  draw  up  the  fol¬ 
lowing  traditional  narrative  as  a  story  in  which,  when  the  general  details 
are  known,  the  interest  is  so  much  concentrated  in  one  strong  moment  of 
agonizing  passion,  that  it  can  be  understood,  and  sympathized  with,  at  a 
single  glance.  I  therefore  presume  that  it  may  be  acceptable  as  a  hint  to 
some  one  among  the  numerous  artists,  who  have  of  late  years  distinguished 
themselves  as  rearing  up  and  supporting  the  British  school. 

Enough  has  been  said  and  sung  about 

The  well-contested  ground, 

The  warlike  border-land — 

to  render  the  habits  of  the  tribes  who  inhabited  them  before  the  union  of 
England  and  Scotland  familiar  to  most  of  your  readers.  The  rougher  and 
sterner  features  of  their  character  were  softened  by  their  attachment  to  the 
fine  arts,  from  which  has  arisen  the  saying  that,  on  the  frontiers  every  dale 
had  its  battle,  and  every  river  its  song.  A  rude  species  of  chivalry  was  in 
(416) 


DEATH  OF  THE  LAIIID’S  JOCK. 


417 


constant  use,  and  single  combats  were  practised  as  the  amusement  of  the 
few  intervals  of  truce  which  suspended  the  exercise  of  war.  The  invete¬ 
racy  of  this  custom  may  be  inferred  from  the  following  incident :  — 

Bernard  Gilpin,  the  apostle  of  the  north,  the  first  who  undertook  to  preach 
the  Protestant  doctrines  to  the  Border  dalesmen,  was  surprised,  on  entering 
one  of  their  churches,  to  see  a  gauntlet,  or  mail-glove,  hanging  above  the 
altar.  Upon  inquiring  the  meaning  of  a  symbol  so  indecorous  being  dis¬ 
played  in  that  sacred  place,  he  was  informed  by  the  clerk,  that  the  glove 
was  that  of  a  famous  swordsman  who  hung  it  there  as  an  emblem  of  a 
general  challenge  and  gage  of  battle,  to  any  who  should  dare  to  take  the 
fatal  token  down.  “  Reach  it  to  me,^’  said  the  reverend  churchman.  Tlie 
clerk  and  sexton  equally  declined  the  perilous  ofiBice ;  and  the  good  Bernard 
Gilpin  was  obliged  to  remove  the  glove  with  his  own  hands,  desiring  those 
who  were  present  to  inform  the  champion,  that  he,  and  no  other,  had  pos¬ 
sessed  himself  of  the  gage  of  defiance.  But  the  champion  was  as  much 
ashamed  to  face  Bernard  Gilpin  as  the  officials  of  the  church  had  been  to 
displace  his  pledge  of  combat. 

The  date  of  the  following  story  is  about  the  latter  years  of  Queen  Eliza¬ 
beth's  reign  ;  and  the  events  took  place  in  Liddesdale,  a  hilly  and  pastoral 
district  of  Roxburghshire,  which,  on  a  part  of  its  boundary,  is  divided  from 
England  only  by  a  small  river. 

During  the  good  old  times  of  rugging  and  riving,  (that  is,  tugging  and 
tearing,)  under  which  term  the  disorderly  doings  of  the  warlike  age  are 
affectionately  remembered,  this  valley  was  principally  cultivated  by  the  sept 
or  clan  of  the  Armstrongs.  The  chief  of  this  warlike  race  was  the  Laird 
of  Mangertown.  At  the  period  of  which  I  speak,  the  estate  of*  Manger- 
town,  with  the  power  and  dignity  of  chief,  was  possessed  by  John  Arm¬ 
strong,  a  man  of  great  size,  strength  and  courage.  While  his  father  was 
alive,  he  was  distinguished  from  others  of  his  clan  who  bore  the  same 
name  by  the  epithet  of  the  Laird’s  Jock,  that  is  to  say,  the  Laird's  son  Jock, 
or  Jack.  This  name  he  distinguished  by  so  many  bold  and  desperate 
achievements,  that  he  retained  it  even  after  his  father's  death,  and  is  men¬ 
tioned  under  it  both  in  authentic  records  and  in  tradition.  Some  of  his 
feats  are  recorded  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  and  others 
mentioned  in  contemporary  chronicles. 

At  the  species  of  singular  combat  which  we  have  described,  the  Laird's 
Jock  was  unrivalled;  and  no  champion  of  Cumberland,  Westmoreland,  or 
Northumberland,  could  endure  the  sway  of  the  huge  two-handed  sword 
which  he  wielded,  and  which  few  others  could  even  lift.  This  “  awful 
sword,"  as  the  common  people  term  it,  was  as  dear  to  him  as  Durindana  or 
Fushberta  to  their  respective  masters,  and  was  nearly  as  formidable  to  his 
enemies  as  those  renowned  falchions  proved  to  the  foes  of  Christendom. 
The  weapon  had  been  bequeathed  to  him  by  a  celebrated  English  outlaw 
named  llobbie  Noble,  who,  having  committed  some  deed  for  which  he  was 
in  danger  from  justice,  fled  to  Liddesdale,  and  became  a  follower,  or  rather 
a  brother-in-arms,  to  the  renowned  Laird's  Jock;  till,  venturing  into  Eng¬ 
land  with  a  small  escort,  a  faithless  guide,  and  with  a  light  single-handed 
sword  instead  of  his  ponderous  brand,  Hobbie  Noble,  attacked  by  superior 
numbers,  was  made  prisoner  and  executed. 

With  this  weapon,  and  by  means  of  his  own  strength  and  address,  the 
Laird's  Jock  maintained  the  reputation  of  the  best  swordsman  on  the  Bor¬ 
der  side,  and  defeated  or  slew  many  who  ventured  to  dispute  with  him  the 
formidable  title. 

But  years  pass  on  with  the  strong  and  the  brave  as  with  the  feeble  and 
the  timid.  In  process  of  time,  the  Laird’s  Jock  grew  incapable  of  wielding 
his  weapon,  and  finally  of  all  active  exertion,  even  of  the  most  ordinary 
kind.  The  disabled  champion  became  at  length  totally  bed-ridden,  and 
VoL.  Xll.— 27 


418 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


entirely  dependent  for  his  comfort  on  the  pious  duties  of  an  only  daughter, 
his  perpetual  attendant  and  companion. 

Besides  this  dutiful  child,  the  Laird’s  Jock  had  an  only  son,  upon  whom 
devolved  the  perilous  task  of  leading  the  clan  to  battle,  and  maintaining 
the  warlike  renown  of  his  native  country,  which  was  now  disputed  by  the 
English  upon  many  occasions.  The  young  Armstrong  was  active,  brave, 
and  strong,  and  brought  home  from  dangerous  adventures  many  tokens  of 
decided  success.  Still  the  ancient  chief  conceived,  as  it  would  seem,  that 
his  son  was  scarce  yet  entitled  by  age  and  experience  to  be  entrusted  with 
jthe  two-handed  sword,  by  the  use  of  which  he  had  himself  been  so  dread- 
Jfully  distinguished. 

,  At  length,  an  English  champion,  one  of  the  name  of  Foster,  (if  I  rightly 
irecollect,)  had  the  audacity  to  send  a  challenge  to  the  best  swordsman  in 
Liddesdale ;  and  young  Armstrong,  burning  for  chivalrous  distinction, 
accepted  the  challenge. 

The  heart  of  the  disabled  old  man  swelled  with  joy  when  he  heard  that 
the  challenge  was  passed  and  accepted,  and  the  meeting  fixed  at  a  neutral 
spot,  used  as  the  place  of  rencontre  upon  such  occasions,  and  which  he 
himself  had  distinguished  by  numerous  victories.  He  exulted  so  much  in 
the  conquest  which  he  anticipated,  that,  to  nerve  his  son  to  still  bolder 
exertions,  he  conferred  upon  him,  as  champion  of  his  clan  and  province,  the 
celebrated  weapon  which  he  had  hitherto  retained  in  his  own  custody. 

This  was  not  all.  When  the  day  of  combat  arrived,  the  Laird’s  Jock,  in 
spite  of  his  daughter’s  affectionate  remonstrances,  determined,  though  he 
had  not  left  his  bed  for  two  years,  to  be  a  personal  witness  of  the  duel. 
Ilis  will  was  still  a  law  to  his  people,  who  bore  him  on  their  shoulders, 
wrapped  in  plaids  and  blankets,  to  the  spot  where  the  combat  was  to  take 
place,  and  seated  him  on  a  fragment  of  rock,  which  is  still  called  the  Laird’s 
Jock’s  stone.  There  he  remained  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  lists  or  barrier, 
within  which  the  champions  were  about  to  meet.  ^  His  daughter,  having 
done  all  she  could  for  his  accommodation,  stood  motionless  beside  him, 
divided  between  anxiety  for  his  health,  and  for  the  event  of  the  combat  to 
her  beloved  brother.  Ere  yet  the  fight  began,  the  old  men  gazed  on  their 
chief,  now  seen  for  the  first  time  after  several  years,  and  sadly  compared 
his  altered  features  and  wasted  frame,  with  the  paragon  of  strength  and 
manly  beauty  which  they  once  remembered.  The  young  men  gazed  on  his 
large  form  and  powerful  make,  as  upon  some  antediluvian  giant  who  had 
survived  the  destruction  of  the  Flood. 

But  the  sound  of  the  trumpets  on  both  sides  recalled  the  attention  of 
every  one  to  the  lists,  surrounded  as  they  were  by  numbers  of  both  nations 
eager  to  witness  the  event  of  the  day.  The  combatants  met.  It  is  need¬ 
less  to  describe  the  struggle :  the  Scottish  champion  fell.  Foster,  placing 
his  foot  on  his  antagonist,  seized  on  the  redoubted  sword,  so  precious  in  the 
eyes  of  its  aged  owner,  and  brandished  it  over  his  head  as  a  trophy  of  his 
conquest.  The  English  shouted  in  triumph.  But  the  despairing  cry  of 
the  aged  champion,  who  saw  his  country  dishonoured,  and  his  sword,  long 
the  terror  of  their  race,  in  possession  of  an  Englishman,  was  heard  high 
above  the  acclamations  of  victory.  He  seemed,  for  an  instant,  animated 
by  all  his  wonted  power ;  for  he  started  from  the  rock  on  which  he  sat,  and 
while  the  garments  with  which  he  had  been  invested  fell  from  his  wasted 
frame,  and  showed  the  ruins  of  his  strength,  he  tossed  his  arms  wildly  to 
heaven,  and  uttered  a  cry  of  indignation,  horror,  and  despair,  which,  tradi¬ 
tion  says,  was  heard  to  a  preternatural  distance,  and  resembled  the  cry  of 
a  dying  lion  more  than  a  human  sound. 

His  friends  received  him  in  their  arms  as  he  sank  utterly  exhausted  by 
the  effort,  and  bore  him  back  to  his  castle  in  mute  sorrow ;  while  his 
daughter  at  once  wept  for  her  brother,  and  endeavoured  to  mitigate  and 
soothe  the  despair  of  her  father.  But  this  was  impossible ;  the  old  man’s 


DEATH  OF  THE  LAIRD’S  JOCK.  410 

only  tie  to  life  was  rent  rudely  asunder,  and  his  heart  had  broken  with  it. 
The  death  of  his  son  had  no  part  in  his  sorrow.  If  he  thought  of  him  at 
all,  it  was  as  the  degenerate  boy,  through  whom  the  honour  of  his  country 
and  clan  had  been  lost;  and  he  died  in  the  course  of  three  days,  never  even 
mentioning  his  name,  but  pouring  out  uninterrupted  lamentations  for  the 
loss  of  his  sword. 

I  conceive,  that  the  instant  when  the  disabled  chief  was  roused  into  a  last 
exertion  by  the  agony  of  the  moment  is  favourable  to  the  object  of  a  painter. 
He  might  obtain  the  full  advantage  of  contrasting  the  form  of  the  rugged 
old  man,  in  the  extremity  of  furious  despair,  with  the  softness  and  beauty 
of  the  female  form.  The  fatal  field  might  be  thrown  into  perspective,  so  as 
to  give  full  effect  to  these  two  principal  figures,  and  with  the  single  expla¬ 
nation  that  the  piece  represented  a  soldier  beholding  his  son  slain,  and  the 
honour  of  his  country  lost,  the  picture  would  be  sufficiently  intelligible  at 
the  first  glance.  If  it  was  thought  necessary  to  show  more  clearly  the 
nature  of  the  conflict,  it  might  be  indicated  by  the  pennon  of  Saint  George 
being  displayed  at  one  end  of  the  lists,  and  that  of  Saint  Andrew  at  the 
other. 

I  remain,  Sir, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

THE  AUTHOR  OF  WAVERLEY. 


END  OF  THE  WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


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CATALOGUE 

OF 

VALUABLE  BOOKS, 

PUBLISHED  BY 

LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMBO  &  CO., 

(SUCCESSORS  TO  GRIGG,  ELLIOT  &  CO.) 

NO.  14  NORTH  FOURTH  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA; 

CONSISTING  OF  A  LARGE  ASSORTMENT  OF 

Bibles,  Prayer-Books,  Commentaries,  Standard  Poets, 
MEDICAL,  THEOLOGICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  WORKS,  ETC., 

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PUBLIC  AND  PRIVATE  LIBRARIES. 

FOR  SALE  BY  BOOKSELLERS  AND  COUNTRY  MERCHANTS  GENERALLY  THROUGH¬ 
OUT  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


THE  BEST  &  MOST  COMPLETE  FAMILY  COMMENTARY. 

The  Comprehensive  Commentary  on  the  Holy  Bible; 

CONTAINING 

THE  TEXT  ACCORDING  TO  T.HE  AUTHORIZED  VERSION, 

BCOTT’S  M.\RfiINAL  REFERENCES;  MATTHEW  HENRY’S  COMMENTARY, 
CONDENSED,  BUT  RETAINING  EVERY  USEFUL  THOUGHT;  THE 
I’RACTICAL  OBSERVATIONS  OF  REV.  THOMAS  SCOTT,  D.  D.; 

WITH  EXTENSIVE 

EXPLANATORY,  CRITICAL  AND  PHILOLOGICAL  NOTES, 

Selected  from  Scott,  Doddridge,  Gill,  Adam  Clarke,  Patrick,  Poole,  Lowth, 
Burder,  Harmer,  Calmet,  Rosenmueller,  Bloomfield,  Stuart,  Bush,  Dwight, 
and  many  other  writers  on  the  Scriptures. 

The  whole  designed  to  be  a  digest  and  combination  of  the  advantages  of 
the  best  Bible  Commentaries,  and  embracing  nearly  all  that  is  valuable  in 

HENRY,  SCOTT,  AND  DODDRIDGE. 

Convenientlyjirranged  for  family  and  private  reading,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
particularly  adapted  to  the  wants  of  Sabbath- School  Teachers  and  Bible 
Classes  ;  with  numerous  useful  tables,  and  a  neatly  engraved  Family  Record. 

Edited  by  Rev.  William  Jenks,  D.  D., 

PASTOR  OF  GREEN  STREET  CHURCH,  BOSTON. 

Embellished  with  five  portraits,  and  other  elegant  engravings,  from  sfee' 
plates;  with  several  maps  and  many  wood-cuts,  illustrative  of  Scripture 
Manners,  Customs,  Antiquities,  &c.  In  6  \ols.  super- royal  8vo. 

Including  Supplement,  bound  in  cloth,  sheep,  calf,  &c.,  varying  in 

Price  from  $10  to  $15. 

The  whole  forming  the  most  valuable  as  well  as  the  cheapest  Commentary 

published  in  the  world. 

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NOTICES  AND  RECOMMENDATIONS 

OF  THE 

COMPREHENSIVE  COMMENTARY. 

The  Publishers  select  the  following  from  the  testimonials  they  have  received 

as  to  the  value  of  the  work: 

We,  the  subscribers,  having  examined  the  Comprehensive  Commentary,  issued  from  the  press  of 
Messrs.  L.,  G.  <k  Co.,  and  highly  approving  its  character,  would  cheerfully  and  confidently  recom¬ 
mend  it  as  containing  more  matter  and  more  advantages  than  any  other  with  which  we  are 
acquainted ;  and  considering  the  expense  incurred,  and  the  excellent  manner  of  its  mechanical 
execution,  we  beheve  it  to  be  one  of  the  cheapest  works  ever  issued  from  the  press.  We  hope  the 
publishers  will  be  sustained  by  a  liberal  patronage,  in  their  expensive  and  useful  undertaking.  We 
should  be  pleased  to  learn  that  every  family  in  the  United  States  had  procured  a  copy. 

B.  B.  WISN  ER,  D.  D.,  Secretary  of  Am.  Board  of  Com.  for  For.  Missions. 

WM.  COGSWELL,  D.  D.,  **  “  Education  Society. 

JOHN  CODMAN,  D.  D.,  Pastor  of  Congregational  Church,  Dorchester. 

Rev.  HUBBARD  WINSLOW,  “  “  Bowdoin  street,  Dorchestei. 

Rev.  SEWALL  HARDING,  Pastor  of  T.  C.  Church,  Waltham. 

Rev.  J.  H.  FAIRCHILD,  Pastor  of  Congregational  Church,  South  Boston. 

GARDINER  SPRING,  D.  D.,  Pastor  of  Presbyterian  Church,  New  York  city. 

CYRUS  MASON,  D.  D.,  “  “  «  m  « 

THOS.  M'AULEY,  D.  D.,  “  ...  «  • 

JOHN  WOODBRIDGE,  D.  D.,  -  “  “  •  « 

THOS.  DEWITT,  D.  D.,  “  Dutch  Ref.  "  -  • 

E.  W,  BALDWIN,  D.  D.,  “  “  “  «  « 

Rev.  J.  M.  M’KREBS,  **  Presbyterian  “  ■ 

Rev.  ERSKINE  MASON,  “  “  »  «  « 

Rev.  J.  S.  SPENCER,  «  «  «  Brooklyn. 

EZRA  STILES  ELY,  D.  D.,  Stated  Clerk  of  Gen.  Assem.  of  Presbyterian  Church. 

JOHN  M'DOWELL,  D.  D.,  Permanent  «  «  « 

JOHN  BRECKENRIDGE,  CoiTesponding  Secretary  of  Assembly’s  Board  of  EduoatloiL 
SAMUEL  B.  WYLIE,  D.  D.,  Pastor  of  the  Reformed  Presbyterian  Church. 

N.  LORD,  D.  D.,  President  of  Dartmouth  College. 

JOSHUA  BATES,  D.  D.,  President  of  Middlebury  College. 


H.  HUMPHREY,  D.  D., 

E.  D,  GRIFFIN,  D.  D., 

J.  WHEELER,  D.  D., 

J.  M.  MATTHEWS,  D.  D., 
GEORGE  E.  PIERCE,  D.  D., 
Rev.  Dr.  BROWN, 


Amherst  College. 

Williamstown  College. 

University  of  Vermont,  at  Burlington. 

New  York  City  University. 

Western  Reserve  College,  Ohia 
Jefferson  College,  Penn. 

LEONARD  WOODS,  D.  D.,  Professor  of  Theology,  Andover  Seminary. 

THOS.  H.  SKINNER,  D.  D.,  “  Sac.  Rhet. 

Rev.  RALPH  EMERSON,  “  Eccl.  Hist.  “  « 

Rev.  JOEL  PARKER,  Pastor  of  Presbyterian  Church,  New  Orleans. 

JOEL  HAWES,  D.  D.,  “  Congregational  Church,  Hartford,  Conn. 

N.  S.  S.  BEAMAN,  D.  D.,  “  Presbyterian  Church,  IVoy,  N.  Y. 

MARK  TUCKER,  D.  D.,  “  -  «  a 

Rev.  E.  N.  KIRK,  “  «  «  Albany,  N.  Y. 

Rev.  E.  B.  EDWARDS,  Editor  of  Quarterly  Observer. 

Rev.  STEPHEN  MASON,  Pastor  First  Congregational  Church,  Nantucket. 

Rfiv.  OR  IN  FOWLER,  «  u  •.  River. 

GEORGE  W.  BE’PHUNE,  D.  D.,  Pastor  of  the  First  Reformed  Dutch  Church,  Philaila. 
Rev.  LYMAN  BEECHER,  D.  D.,  Cincinnati,  Ohio. 

Rev.  C.  D.  MALLORY,  Pastor  Baptist  Church,  Augusta,  Ga. 

Rev.  S.  M.  NOEL,  «  «  «  Frankfort,  Ky. 


From  the  Professors  at  Princeton  Theological  Seminary. 

The  Comprehensive  Commentary  contains  the  whole  of  Henry’s  Exposition  in  a  condensed  form, 
Scott’s  Practical  Observations  and  Marginal  References,  and  a  large  number  of  very  valuable  philo¬ 
logical  and  critical  notes,  selected  from  various  authors.  The  work  appears  to  be  executed  with 
Judgment,  fidelity,  and  care;  and  will  furnish  a  rich  treasure  of  scriptural  knowledge  to  the 
Biblical  student,  and  to  the  teachers  of  Sabbath-Schools  and  Bible  Classes. 

A.  ALEXANDER,  D.  D. 
SAMUEL  MILLER,  D.  D. 
CHARLES  HODGE,  D.  D 


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Coraiiauinn  tu  ttje  ®ibh. 

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♦ 

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OR  HENRY’S,  SCOTT’S,  CLARKE’S,  GILL’S,  OR  OTHER  COMMENTARIESt 

CONTAINING 

1.  A  new,  full,  and  complete  Concordance; 

Illustrated  with  mortumental,  traditional,  and  oriental  enpravinga,  founded  on  Butterworth’i,  with 
Cniden’s  definitions ;  forming,  it  is  believed,  on  many  accounts,  a  more  valuable  work  than  either 
Butterworth,  Cruden,  or  any  other  similar  book  in  the  language. 

The  value  of  a  Concordance  is  now  generally  understpod ;  and  those  who  have  used  one,  con¬ 
sider  it  indispensable  in  connection  with  the  Bible. 

2.  A  Guide  to  the  Reading  and  Study  of  the  Bible ; 

being  Carpenter’s  valuable  Biblical  Companion,  lately  published  in  London,  containing  a  complete 
history  of  the  Bible,  and  forming  a  most  excellent  introduction  to  its  study.  It  embraces  the  evi¬ 
dences  of  Christianity,  Jewish  antiquities,  manners,  customs,  arts,  natural  history,  6iC.,  of  the  Bible, 
with  notes  and  engravings  added. 

3.  Complete  Biographies  of  Henry,  by  Williams;  Scott,  by  his 

son ;  Doddridge,  by  Orton ; 

with  sketches  of  the  lives  and  characters,  and  notices  of  the  works,  of  the  writers  on  the  Scripturee 
who  are  quoted  in  the  Commentary,  bving  and  dead,  American  and  foreign. 

This  part  of  the  volume  not  only  affords  a  large  quantity  of  interesting  and  useful  reading  for 
pious  families,  but  will  also  be  a  source  of  gratification  to  all  those  who  are  in  the  habit  of  consult¬ 
ing  the  Commentary;  every  one  naturally  feeling  a  desire  to  know  some  particulars  of  the  lives  and 
characters  of  those  whose  opinions  he  seeks.  Appended  to  this  part,  will  be  a 

BIBLIOTHECA  BIBLICA, 

or  list  of  the  best  works  on  the  Bible,  of  all  kinds,  arranged  under  their  appropriate  heads. 

4.  A  complete  Index  of  the  Matter  contained  in  the  Bible  Text. 

5.  A  Symbolical  Dictionary. 

A  very  comprehensive  and  valuable  Dictionary  of  Scripture  S)rmbols,  (occupying  about  fifty-six 
closely  pnnted  pages,)  by  Thomas  Wemyss,  (author  of  “Bibhcal  Gleanings,”  <kc.)  Comprising 
Daubuz,  Lancaster,  Hutoheson,  <kc. 

6.  The  Work  contains  several  other  Articles, 

Indexes,  Tables,  Sic.  Sic.,  and  is, 

7.  Illustrated  by  a  large  Plan  of  Jerusalem, 

identifying,  as  far  as  tradition.  Sic.,  go,  the  original  sites,  drawn  on  the  spot  by  F.  Catherwood,  of 
London,  architect.  Also,  two  steel  engravings  of  portraits  of  seven  foreign  and  eight  American 
theological  writers,  and  numerous  wood  engravings. 

The  whole  forms  a  desirable  and  necessary  fimd  of  instruction  for  the  use  not  only  of  clergymen 
and  Sabbath-school  teachers,  but  also  fur  families.  When  the  great  amount  of  matter  it  must 
contain  is  considered,  it  will  be  deemed  exceedingly  cheap. 

“  I  have  examined  ‘The  Companion  to  the  Bible,’ and  have  been  surprised  to  find  so  much  inform¬ 
ation  introduced  into  a  volume  of  so  mrslerate  a  size.  It  contains  a  library  of  sacred  knowledge 
and  criticism.  It  will  be  useful  to  ministers  who  own  large  libraries,  and  cannot  fail  to  be  an 
invaluable  help  to  every  reader  of  the  Bible.”  HENRY  MORRIS, 

Pastor  of  Congregational  Church,  Vermont. 

The  above  work  can  be  had  in  several  styles  of  binding.  Price  varying 

from  $1  75  to  $5  (X). 

3 


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ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES, 

In  one  super-royal  volume. 

DERIVED  PRINCIPALLY  FROM  THE  MANNERS,  CUSTOMS,  ANTIQUITIES,  TRADITIONS, 
AND  FORMS  OF  SPEECH,  RITES,  CLIMATE,  WORKS  OF  ART,  AND 
UTERATURE  OF  THE  EASTERN  NATIONS : 

EMBODYINa  ALL  THAT  IS  VALUABLE  IN  THE  WORKS  OF 

ROBERTS,  HARZVIER,  BURDER,  PAXTON,  CHANDLER, 

And  the  most  celebrated  oriental  travellers.  Embracing  also  the  subject  of  the  Fulfilment  of 
Prophecy,  as  exhibited  by  Keith  and  others ;  with  descriptions  of  the  present  state 
of  countries  and  places  mentioned  in  the  Sacred  Writings. 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  NUMEROUS  LANDSCAPE  ENGRAVINGS, 

FROM  SKETCHES  TAKEN  ON  THE  SPOT. 

Edited  by  Eev.  George  Bush, 

Professor  of  Hebrew  and  Oriental  Literature  in  the  New  York  City  University. 

The  importance  of  this  work  must  be  obvious,  and,  being  altogether  illustrative,  without  reference 
to  doctrines,  or  other  points  in  which  Christians  differ,  it  is  hoped  it  will  meet  with  favour  from  all 
who  love  the  sacr^  volume,  and  that  it  will  be  sufficiently  interesting  and  attractive  to  recommend 
itself,  not  only  to  professed  Christians  of  all  denominations,  but  also  to  the  geueral  reader.  The 
arrangement  of  the  texts  illustrated  with  the  notes,  in  the  order  of  the  chapters  and  verses  of  the 
authorized  version  of  the  Bible,  will  render  it  convenient  for  reference  to  particular  passages ; 
while  the  copious  Index  at  the  end  will  at  once  enable  the  reader  to  turn  to  every  subject  discussed 
in  the  volume. 

This  volume  is  not  destined  to  take  the  place  of  Commentaries,  but  is  a  distinct  department  of  biblical 
mstruction,  and  mav  he  used  as  a  companion  to  the  Comprehensive  or  any  other  Commentary,  or  the 
Holy  Bible. 

THE  ENGRAVINGS 

tn  this  volume,  it  is  believed,  will  form  no  small  part  of  its  attractions.  No  pains  have  been  spared 
to  procure  such  as  should  embellish  the  work,  and,  at  the  same  time,  illustrate  the  text.  Objec¬ 
tions  that  have  been  made  to  the  pictures  commonly  introduced  into  the  Bible,  as  being  mere  crea¬ 
tions  of  fancy  and  the  imagination,  often  unlike  nature,  and  frequently  conveying  false  impressions, 
cannot  be  urged  against  the  pictorial  illustrations  of  this  volume.  Here  the  fine  arts  are  made 
subservient  to  utility,  the  landscape  views  being,  without  an  exception,  matter-of-fact  views  of  places 
mentioned  in  Scripture,  as  they  appear  at  the  present  day ;  thus  in  many  instances  exhibiting,  in  the 
most  forcible  manner,  to  the  eye,  the  strict  and  literal  fulfilment  of  the  remarkable  prophecies ;  “  the 
present  ruined  and  desolate  condition  of  the  cities  of  Babylon,  Nineveh,  Selah,  Ac.,  and  the  coun¬ 
tries  of  Edom  and  Egypt,  are  astonishing  examples,  and  so  completely  exemplify,  in  the  most 
minute  particulars,  every  thing  which  was  foretold  of  them  in  the  height  of  their  prosperity,  that 
no  better  description  can  now  be  given  of  them  than  a  simple  quotation  from  a  chapter  and  versa 
of  the  Bible  written  nearly  two  or  three  thousand  years  ago."  The  publishers  are  enabled  to  select 
from  several  collections  lately  published  in  London,  the  proprietor  of  one  of  which  sajrs  that  “  seve¬ 
ral  distinguished  travellers  have  afforded  him  the  use  of  nearly  Three  Hundred  Original  Sketches^' 
of  Scripture  places,  made  upon  the  spot.  **  The  land  of  Palestine,  it  is  well  known,  abounds  in 
scenes  of  the  most  picturesque  beauty.  Syria  comprehends  the  snowy  heights  of  Lebanon,  and  ths 
majestic  ruins  of  Tadmor  and  Baalbec." 

The  above  work  can  be  had  m  various  styles  of  binding.  ' 

Price  from  $1  50  to  $5  00. 


THE  ILLUSTRATED  CONCORDANCE, 

In  one  volume,  royal  8vo. 

A  new,  full,  and  complete  Concordance ;  illustrated  with  monumental,  traditional,  and  oriental 
engravings,  founded  on  Butterworth’s,  with  Cruden’s  definitions ;  forming,  it  is  believed,  on  many 
accounts,  a  more  valuable  work  than  either  Butterworth,  Cruden,  or  any  other  similar  book  in  the 
language. 

The  value  of  a  Concordance  Is  now  generally  understood ;  and  those  who  have  used  one,  con¬ 
sider  it  indispensable  in  connection  with  the  Bible.  Some  of  the  many  advantages  the  Illustrated 
Concordance  has  over  all  the  others,  are,  that  it  contains  near  two  hundred  appropriate  engravings  : 
It  is  printed  on  fine  white  paper,  with  beautiful  large  type. 

Price  One  Dollar. 


LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMBO  &  CO.’S  PUBLICATIONS. 


LIPPINCOTT’S  EDITION  OF 

BAGSTER’S  COMPREHENSIVE  BIBLE. 

In  order  to  develope  the  peculiar  nature  of  the  Comprehensive  Bible,  it  will  only  be  necessary 
to  embrace  its  more  prominent  features. 

Ist.  The  SACRED  TEXT  is  that  of  the  Authonzed  Version,  and  is  printed  from  the  edition  cor¬ 
rected  and  improved  by  Dr.  Blaney,  which,  from  its  accuracy,  is  considered  the  standard  edition. 

2<1.  The  VARIOUS  READINGS  are  faithfully  printed  from  the  edition  of  Dr.  Blaney,  inclusive 
of  the  translation  of  the  proper  names,  without  the  addition  or  diminution  of  one. 

3d.  In  the  CHRONOLOGY,  great  care  has  been  taken  to  fix  the  date  of  the  particular  transac¬ 
tions,  which  has  seldom  been  done  with  any  degree  of  exactness  in  any  former  edition  of  the  Bible. 

4th.  The  NOTES  are  exclusively  philological  and  explanatory,  and  are  not  tinctured  with  senti¬ 
ments  of  any  sect  or  party.  They  are  selected  from  the  most  eminent  Biblical  critics  and  com¬ 
mentators. 

It  is  hoped  that  this  edition  of  the  Holy  Bible  will  be  found  to  contain  the  essence  of  Biblical 
research  and  criticism,  that  lies  dispersed  through  an  immense  number  of  volumes. 

Such  is  the  nature  and  design  of  this  edition  of  the  Sacred  Volume,  which,  from  the  various 
objects  it  embraces,  the  freedom  of  its  pages  from  all  sectarian  peculiarities,  and  the  beauty,  plain¬ 
ness,  and  correctness  of  the  typography,  that  it  cannot  fail  of  proving  acceptable  and  useful  to 
Christians  of  every  denomination. 

In  addition  to  the  usual  references  to  parallel  passages,  which  are  quite  full  and  numerous,  the 
student  has  all  the  marginal  readings,  together  with  a  rich  selection  of  Philological,  Critical,  Histo¬ 
rical,  Geographical,  and  other  valuable  notes  and  remarks,  which  explain  and  illustrate  the  sacred 
text.  Besides  the  general  intrtKluclion,  containing  valuable  essays  on  the  genuineness,  authenticity, 
and  inspiration  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  and  other  topics  of  interest,  there  are  introductory  and  con¬ 
cluding  remarks  to  each  book — a  table  of  the  contents  of  the  Bible,  by  which  the  different  portions 
are  so  arranged  as  to  read  in  an  historical  order. 

Arranged  at  the  top  of  each  page  is  the  period  in  which  the  prominent  events  of  sacred  history 
took  place.  The  calculations  are  made  for  the  year  of  the  world  before  and  after  Christ,  Julian 
Period,  the  year  of  the  Olympiad,  the  year  of  the  building  of  Rome,  and  other  notations  of  time. 
At  the  close  is  inserted  a  Chronological  Index  of  the  Bible,  according  to  the  computation  of  Arch¬ 
bishop  Ussher.  Also,  a  full  and  valuable  index  of  the  subjects  contained  in  the  Old  and  New  Testa¬ 
ments,  with  a  careful  analysis  and  arrangement  of  texts  under  their  appropriate  subjects. 

Mr.  Greenfield,  the  editor  of  this  work,  and  for  some  time  previous  to  his  death  the  superintend¬ 
ent  of  the  editorial  department  of  the  British  and  Foreign  Bible  Society,  was  a  most  extraordinary 
man.  In  editing  the  Comprehensive  Bible,  his  varied  and  extensive  learning  was  called  into  suo- 
cessfiil  exercise,  and  appears  in  happy  combination  with  sincer**  piety  and  a  sound  judgment.  The 
Editor  of  the  Christian  Observer,  alluding  to  this  work,  in  an  obituary  notice  of  its  author,  speaka 
of  it  as  a  work  of  “prodigious  labour  and  research,  at  once  exhibiting  bis  varied  talents  and  pro¬ 
found  erudition.” 

LIPPINCOTT’S  EDITION  OP 

THE  OXFORD  QUARTO  BIBLE. 

The  Publishers  have  spared  neither  care  nor  expense  in  their  edition  of  the  Bible;  it  is  printed 
cn  the  finest  white  vellum  paper,  with  large  and  beautiful  type,  and  bound  in  the  most  substantial 
and  splendid  manner,  in  the  following  styles:  Velvet,  with  richly  gilt  ornaments;  Turkey  super 
extra,  with  gilt  clasps ;  and  in  numerous  others,  to  suit  the  taste  of  the  most  fastidious. 

OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS. 

**  In  our  opinion,  the  Christian  public  generally  will  feel  under  great  obligations  to  the  publishers 
of  this  work  for  the  lieautiful  taste,  arrangement,  and  delicate  neatness  with  which  they  have  got 
it  out.  The  intrinsic  merit  of  the  Bible  recommends  itself ;  it  needs  no  tinsel  ornament  to  adorn 
its  sacred  pages.  In  this  edition  every  superfluous  ornament  has  been  avoided,  and  we  have  pre¬ 
sented  us  a  perfectly  chaste  specimen  of  the  Bible,  without  note  or  comment.  It  appears  to  be  just 
what  is  needed  in  every  family — ‘  the  unsophisticated  word  of  God.’ 

“  The  size  is  quarto,  printed  with  beautiful  type,  on  white,  sized  vellum  paper,  of  the  finest  texture 
and  most  beautiful  surface.  The  publishers  seem  to  have  been  solicitous  to  ma^e  a  perfectly 
unique  book,  and  they  have  ac.complished  the  object  very  successfullv.  We  trust  that  a  liberal 
community  will  afford  them  ample  remuneration  for  all  the  expense  and  outlay  they  have  necessa¬ 
rily  incurred  in  its  publication.  It  is  a  standard  Bible. 

“The  publishers  are  Messrs.  Lippincott,  Grambo  &  Co.,  No.  14  North  Fourth  street,  Philadel- 
pliia.”  —  Baptist  Record. 

“A  Dcautiful  quarto  edition  of  the  Bible,  by  L.,  G.  At  Co.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  type  in  clear 
ness  and  beauty ;  the  paper  is  of  the  finest  texture,  and  the  whole  execution  is  exceeui^ly  neat. 
No  illustrations  or  ornamental  t3rpe  are  used.  Those  who  prefer  a  Bible  executed  in  perfect  sim- 
phcity,  yet  elegance  of  style,  without  adornment,  wall  probably  never  find  one  more  to  their  test*  * 
—  M.  Magazine. 

A* 


6 


LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMBO  &  CO.’S  PUBLICATIONS, 


LIPPINCOTT’S  EDITIONS  OF 

THE  HOLY  BIBLE. 

SIX  DIFFERENT  SIZES, 

Printed  in  the  beet  manner,  with  beautiful  type,  on  the  finest  sized  paper,  and  bound  in  the  most 
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much  less  price.  To  be  had  with  or  without  plates ;  the  publishers  having  supplied  themselves  with 
©rer  fifty  steel  engravings,  by  the  first  artists. 

Baxter’s  Comprehensive  Bible, 

Royal  quarto,  containing  the  various  readings  and  marginal  notes ;  disquisitions  on  the  genuineness, 
authenticity,  and  inspiration  of  the  Holy  Scriptures ;  introductory  and  concluding  remarks  to  epach 
book ;  philological  and  explanatory  notes  ;  table  of  contents,  arranged  in  historical  order ;  a  chro¬ 
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Sabbath-school  teachers,  and  students. 

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Agate  32mo.  Bible, 

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32 mo.  Diamond  Pocket  Bible; 

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CONSTANTLY  ON  HAND, 

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A  liberal  discount  made  to  Booksellers  and  Agents  by  the  Publishers. 

ENCYCLOP/EDIA  OF  RELIGIOUS  KNOWLEDGE; 

OR,  DICTIONARY  OF  THE  BIBLE,  THEOLOGY,  RELIGIOUS  BIOGRAPHY,  ALL  RELIGIONS, 
ECCLESIASTICAL  HISTORY,  AND  MISSIONS. 

Designed  as  a  complete  Book  of  Reference  on  all  Religious  Subjects,  and  Companion  to  the  Bible; 
mrming  a  cheap  and  compact  Library  of  Religious  Knowledge.  Edited  by  Rev.  J.  Newton  Brown. 
Illustrated  by  wood-cuts,  maps,  ar^l  engravings  on  copper  and  steeL  In  one  volume,  royal  9vo. 
Price.  $4  00. 


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Lippincott's  Standard  Editions  of 

THE  BOOK  OF  COMMON  PRAYER. 

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Illuminations;  making  one  of  the  most  splendid  books  published.  To  be  had  in  any  variety  of  the 
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8  VO. 

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The  Errors  of  Modern  Infidelity  Illustrated  and  Refuted. 

BY  S.  IVI.  SCHIVIUCKER,  A.  M. 

In  one  volume,  12mo. ;  cloth.  Just  published. 

We  cannot  but  regard  this  work,  in  whatever  light  we  view  it  in  reference  to  its  design,  as  one 
of  the  most  masterly  productions  of  the  age,  and  fitted  to  unroot  one  of  the  most  fondly  chenshed 
and  dangerous  of  all  ancient  or  modem  errors.  God  must  bless  such  a  work,  armed  with  his  own 
truth,  and  doing  fierce  and  successful  battle  against  black  infidelity,  which  would  bring  His  Majesty 
and  Word  down  to  the  tribunal  of  human  reason,  for  condemnation  and  annihilation. — Alb.  Spectator 

7 


LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMBO  &  CO.’S  PUBLICATIONS 


Clergq  nf  Slnurira 


♦ 

♦ 


CONSISTING  OF 

ANECDOTES  ILLUSTRATIVE  OF  THE  CHARACTER  OF  MINISTERS  OF  RELI¬ 
GION  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

BY  JOSEPH  BELCHER,  D.D., 

Editor  of  “The  Complete  Works  of  Andrew  Fuller,”  “Robert  Hall,”  &c. 

“This  very  interesting:  and  instructive  co'lection  of  pleasing:  and  solemn  remembrances  of  many 
pious  men,  illustrates  the  character  of  the  day  in  which  they  lived,  and  dediies  the  men  more 
clearly  than  very  elaborate  essays.”  —  Baltimore  American. 

“  We  regard  the  collection  as  highly  interesting,  and  judiciously  made.”  —  Presbyterian. 


JOSEPHUS’S  (FLAVIUS)  WORKS, 

FAMILY  EDITION. 

BY  THE  LATE  WILLIAM  WHISTON,  A.  M. 

FROM  THE  LAST  LONDON  EDITION,  COMPLETE. 

One  volume,  beautifully  illustrated  with  Steel  Plates,  and  the  only  readable  edition 

published  in  this  country. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  every  family  in  our  co'uitry  has  a  copy  of  the  Holy  Bible ;  and  as  the  pre¬ 
sumption  is  that  the  greater  portion  often  consult  its  pages,  we  take  the  liberty  of  saying  to  all  those 
that  do,  that  the  perusal  of  the  writings  of  Josephus  will  be  found  very  interesting  and  instructive. 

All  those  who  wish  to  possess  a  beautiful  and  correct  copy  of  this  valuable  work,  would  do  well 
to  purchase  this  edition.  It  is  for  sale  at  all  the  principal  bookstores  in  the  United  States,  and  by 
country  merchants  generally  in  the  Southern  and  Western  States. 

Also,  the  above  work  in  two  volumes. 


BURDER’S  VILLAGE  SERMONS; 

Or,  101  Plain  and  Short  Disconraes  on  the  Principal  Doctrines  of  the  Gospel. 

INTENDED  FOR  THE  USE  OF  FAMILIES,  SUNDAY-SCHOOLS,  OR  COMPANIES  ASSEM¬ 
BLED  FOR  RELIGIOUS  INSTRUCTION  IN  COUNTRY  VILLAGES. 

BY  GEORG-E  BURDER. 

To  which  is  added  to  each  Sermon,  a  Short  Prayer,  with  some  General  Prayers  for  Families, 

Schools,  Ac.,  at  the  end  of  the  work. 

COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME,  OCTAVO. 

These  sermons,  which  are  characterized  by  a  beautiful  simplicity,  the  entire  absence  of  contro¬ 
versy,  and  a  true  evangelical  spirit,  have  gone  through  many  and  large  editions,  and  been  translated 
into  several  of  the  continental  languages.  “  They  have  also  been  the  honoured  means  not  only  of 
converting  many  individuals,  but  also  of  introducing  the  Gospel  into  districts,  and  even  into  parish 
churches,  where  before  it  was  comparatively  unknown.” 

“  This  work  fully  deserves  the  immortality  it  has  attained.” 

This  is  a  fine  library  edition  of  this  invaluable  work ;  and  when  we  say  that  it  should  be  found  in 
the  possession  of  every  family,  we  only  reiterate  the  sentiments  and  sincere  wishes  of  all  who  take 
a  deep  interest  in  the  eternal  welfare  of  mankind.  - 


FAMILY  PRAYERS  AND  HYMNS, 

ADAPTED  TO  FAMILY  WORSHIP, 

AND 

TABLES  FOR  THE  REGULAR  READING  OF  THE  SCRIPTURES, 

By  Kev.  S.  C.  Winchester,  A.  M., 

Ute  Pastor  of  the  Sixth  Presbyterian  Church,  Philadelphia;  and  the  Preshyterian  Church  m 

Natchez,  Miss. 

One  volume,  12mo. 

8 


LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMBO  &  CO.’S  PUBLICATIONS. 


SPLENDID  LIBRARY  EDITIONS. 


ILLUSTRATED  STANDARD  POETS. 

fclLEGANTLY  PRINTED,  ON  FINE  PAPER,  AND  UNIFORM  IN  SIZE  AND 

STYLE. 


Tie  following  Editions  of  Standard  British  Poets  are  illustrated  with  numerous  Sve«l 
Engravings,  and  may  be  had  in  all  varieties  of  binding. 

BYRON'S  WORKS. 

COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME,  OCTAVO. 

INCLUDING  ALL  HIS  SUPPRESSED  AND  ATTRIBUTED  POEMS;  WITH  SIX  BEAUTIFUL 

ENGRAVINGS. 

This  edition  has  been  carefully  compared  with  the  recent  London  edition  of  Mr.  Murray,  and 
made  complete  by  the  addition  of  more  than  fifty  pages  of  poems  heretofore  unpublished  in  Eng¬ 
land.  Among  these  there  are  a  number  that  have  never  appeared  in  any  Amencan  edition ;  and 
the  publishers  believe  they  are  warranted  in  saying  that  this  is  the  most  complete  edition  of  Lord 
Byron’s  Poetical  Works  ever  published  in  the  United  States. 


€\)t  l^ortiral  ^nrb  nf  Mrs.  Mtmm. 

Complete  in  one  volume,  octavo ;  with  seven  beautiful  Engravings. 

This  is  a  new  and  complete  edition,  with  a  splendid  engraved  likeness  of  Mrs.  Remans,  on  steel, 
and  contains  all  the  Poems  in  the  last  London  and  American  editions.  With  a  Critical  Prefac«  by 
Mr.  Thatcher,  of  Boston. 

“As  no  work  in  the  English  language  can  be  commended  with  more  confidence,  it  will  argue  bad 
taste  in  a  female  in  this  country  to  be  without  a  complete  edition  of  the  writings  of  one  who  was 
an  honour  to  her  sex  and  to  humanity,  and  whose  productions,  from  first  to  last,  contain  no  syllable 
calculated  to  call  a  blush  to  the  cheek  of  modesty  and  virtue.  There  is,  moreover,  in  Mrs.  Hemans’s 
poetry,  a  moral  purity  and  a  religious  feeling  which  commend  it,  in  an  especial  manner,  to  the  dis¬ 
criminating  reader.  No  parent  or  guardian  will  be  under  the  necessityjof  imposing  restrictions 
with  regard  to  the  free  perusal  of  every  production  emanating  from  this  gifted  woman.  There 
breathes  throughout  the  whole  a  most  eminent  exemption  from  impropriety  of  thought  or  diction ; 
and  there  is  at  times  a  pensiveness  of  tone,  a  winning  sadness  in  her  more  serious  compositions, 
which  tells  of  a  soul  which  has  been  lifted  from  the  contemplation  of  terrestrial  things,  to  divine 
eommunings  with  beings  of  a  purer  world.” 


MILTON,  YOUNG,  GRAY,  BEATTIE,  AND  COLLINS’S 

POETICAL  WORKS. 

COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME,  OCTAVO. 

WITH  SIX  BEAUTIFUL  ENGRAVINGS-. 


Cniuptr  nni  ^jinrasnn'H  ^im  nnii  f  attitnl  IBotb. 

COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME,  OCTAVO. 

mcluding  two  hundred  and  fifty  Letters,  and  sundry  Poems  of  Cowper,  never  before  pubhshed  in 
this  country ;  and  of  Thomson  a  new  and  interesting  Memoir,  and  upwards  of  twenty 
new  Poems,  for  the  first  time  printed  from  his  own  Manuscripts,  taken  from 
a  late  Edition  of  the  Aldine  Poets,  now  publishing  in  London. 

WITH  SEVEN  BEAUTIFUL  ENGRAVINGS. 

The  distinguished  Profes-sor  Silliman,  speaking  of  this  edition,  observes :  “  I  am  as  much  gratified 
by  the  elegance  and  fine  taste  of  your  edition,  as  by  the  noble  tribute  of  genius  and  moral  excel¬ 
lence  which  these  delightful  authors  have  left  for  all  future  generations ;  and  Cowper,  especially, 
is  not  less  conspicuous  as  a  true  Christian,  moralist  and  teacher,  thsm  as  a  poet  of  great  power 
exquisite  taste.” 


9 


LIPPINCOTT,  ORAMBO  &  CO.’S  PUBLICATIONS. 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  ROGERS,  CAMPBELL,  MONTGOMERY, 

LAMB,  AND  KIRKE  WHITE. 

COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME,  OCTAVO. 

WITH  SIX  BEAUTIFUL  E  N  G- R  A  V  I  N  G- S  . 

The  beauty,  correctness,  and  convenience  of  this  favourite  edition  of  these  standard  authors  are 
so  well  known,  that  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add  a  word  in  its  favour.  It  is  only  necessary  to  say, 
that  the  publishers  have  now  issued  an  illustrated  edition,  which  greatly  enhances  its  former  value. 
The  engravings  are  excellent  and  well  selected.  It  is  the  best  library  edition  extant. 


CRABBE,  HEBER,  AND  POLLOK’S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME,  OCTAVO. 

WITH  SIX  BEAUTIFUL  ENG-RAVINGS. 

A  writer  in  the  Boston  Traveller  holds  the  following  language  with  reference  to  these  valuable 
editions 

“  Mr.  Editor :  —  I  wish,  without  any  idea  of  puffing,  to  say  a  word  or  two  upon  the  ‘  Library  of 
English  Poets’  that  is  now  published  at  Philadelphia,  by  Lippincott,  Grambo  <fe  Co.  It  is  certainly, 
taking  into  consideration  the  elegant  manner  in  which  it  is  printed,  and  the  reasonable  price  at 
wiiich  it  is  afforded  to  purchasers,  the  best  edition  of  the  modem  British  Poets  that  has  ever  been 
published  in  this  country.  Each  volume  is  an  octavo  of  about  500  pages,  double  columns,  steneo- 
typed.  and  accompanied  with  fine  engravings  and  biographical  sketches ;  and  most  of  them  are 
reprinted  from  Galignani’s  French  edition.  As  to  its  value,  we  need  only  mention  that  it  contains 
the  entire  works  of  Montgomery,  Gray,  Beattie,  Collins,  Byron,  Cowper,  Thomson,  Milton,  Voung, 
Rogers,  Campbell,  Lamb,  Hemans,  Heber,  Kirke  White,  Crabbe,  the  Miscellaneous  Works  of  Gold¬ 
smith,  and  other  masters  of  the  lyre.  The  publishers  are  doing  a  great  service  by  their  publication, 
and  their  volumes  are  almost  in  as  great  demand  as  the  fashionable  novels  of  the  day ;  and  they 
deserve  to  be  so :  for  they  are  certainly  printed  in  a  style  superior  to  that  in  which  we  have  before 
hatl  the  works  of  the  English  Poets.” 

No  library  can  be  considered  complete  without  a  copy  of  the  above  beautiful  and  cheap  editions 
of  the  English  Poets ;  and  persons  ordering  all  or  any  of  them,  will  please  say  Lippincott,  Grambo 
A  Co.’s  illustrated  editions. 


A  COMPLETE 

liftionimi  Df  ^ortital  (HxuntatiDns: 

COMPRISING  THE  MOST  EXCELLENT  AND  APPROPRIATE  PASSAGES  IN 
THE  OLD  BRITISH  POETS;  WITH  CHOICE  AND  COPIOUS  SELEC¬ 
TIONS  FROM  THE  BEST  MODERN  BRITISH  AND 
AMERICAN  POETS. 

EDITED  BY  SARAH  JOSEPHA  HALE. 

As  nightingales  do  upon  glow-worms  feed, 

So  poets  live  upon  the  living  light 
Of  Nature  and  of  Beauty. 

Bailey's  Festus. 

Be«utlfuI1y  illustrated  with  Engravings.  In  one  super-royal  octavo  volume,  in  various 

bindings. 

The  publishers  extract,  from  the  many  highly  complimentary  notices  of  the  above  valuable  and 
beautiful  work,  the  following : 

“We  have  at  la.st  a  volume  of  Poetical  Quotations  worthy  of  the  name.  It  contains  nearly  six 
hundred  octavo  pages,  carefully  and  tastefully  selected  from  all  the  home  and  foreign  authors  of 
celebrity.  It  is  invaluable  to  a  writer,  while  to  the  ordinary  retider  it  presents  every  subject  at  a 
glance.” —  Godey's  Lady's  Booh. 

“The  plan  or  idea  of  Mrs.  Hide’s  work  is  felicitous.  It  is  one  for  which  her  fine  taste,  her  orderly 
iiabitsof  mind,  and  her  long  occupation  with  literature,  has  given  her  peculiar  facilities;  and  tho¬ 
roughly  has  she  accomplished  her  task  in  the  work  before  ns.”  —  Sartain's  Magazine. 

“  It  is  a  choice  collection  of  poetical  extracts  from  every  English  and  American  author  worth 
l>«rus)ng,  from  the  days  of  Chaucer  to  the  present  time.”  -WushiTigton  Union. 

”  There  is  notlung  negative  about  this  work ;  it  is  positively  giKid.”—  Evening  Bulletin. 

10 


LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMCO  &  CO.’S  PUBLICATIONS. 


THE  DIAMOND  EDITION  OF  BYRON. 


THE  POETICAL  WORKg  OF  LORD  BYRON, 

WITH  A  SKETCH  OF  HIS  LIFE. 

COMPLETE  IN  ONE  NEAT  DUODECIMO  VOLUME,  WITH  STEEL  PLATES. 

The  type  of  this  edition  is  so  perfect,  and  it  is  pnnted  with  so  much  care,  on  fine  white  paper, 
that  it  can  be  read  with  as  much  ease  as  most  of  t)ie  larger  editions.  This  work  is  to  be  had  hk 
plain  and  superb  binding,  making  a  beautiful  volume  for  a  gift. 

“  The  Poetical  Works  of  Lord  Byron,  complete  in  one  volume  ;  published  by  L.,  G.  A  Co.,  Phila¬ 
delphia.  We  hazard  nothing  in  saying  that,  take  it  altogether,  this  is  the  most  elegant  work  ever 
issued  from  the  American  pre.ss. 

“‘In  a  single  volume,  not  larger  than  an  ordinary  duodecimo,  the  publishers  have  embraced  the 
whole  of  Lord  Byron’s  Poems,  usually  jiriiited  in  ten  or  twelve  volumes;  and,  what  is  more  remark¬ 
able,  have  done  it  with  a  type  so  clear  and  distinct,  that,  notwithstanding  its  necessarily  small  size, 
it  may  be  read  with  the  utmost  facility,  even  by  failing  eyes  The  book  is  stereotyped  ;  and  never 
have  we  seen  a  finer  specimen  of  that  art.  Everything  about  it  is  perfect  —  the  paper,  the  print¬ 
ing,  the  binding,  all  correspond  with  each  other ;  and  it  is  embellished  with  two  fine  engravings, 
well  worthy  the  companionship  in  which  they  are  placed. 

“  ‘  This  will  make  a  beautiful  Christmas  present.’ 

“  We  e.xtract  the  above  from  Godey’s  Lauy’s  Book.  The  notice  itself,  we  are  given  to  understand. 
IS  written  by  Mrs.  Hale. 

“  We  have  to  add  our  commendation  in  favour  of  this  beautiful  volume,  a  copy  of  which  has 
been  sent  us  by  the  publishers.  The  admirers  of  the  noble  bard  will  feel  obliged  to  the  enterprise 
which  has  prompted  the  publishers  to  dare  a  competition  with  the  numerous  editions  of  liis  works 
already  in  circulation ;  and  we  shall  be  surprised  if  this  convenient  travelling  edition  does  not  in  a 
great  degree  supersede  the  use  of  the  large  octavo  works,  which  have  little  advantage  in  size  ana 
openness  of  type,  and  are  much  inferior  in  the  qualities  of  portability  and  lightness.”  —  Intelligencer. 


THE  DIAMOND  EDITION  OF  MOORE. 

(corresponding  with  BYRON.) 

THE  POETICAL  WORI^OF  THOMAS  MOORE, 

COLLECTED  BY  HIMSELF. 

COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME. 

Tnis  work  is  published  uniform  with  Byron,  from  the  last  London  edition,  and  is  the  most  com¬ 
plete  printed  in  the  country.  • 

THE  DIAMOND  EDITION  OF  SHAKSPEARE, 

(COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME,) 

iiTCiiUDirrG  A  sKE'rcia  of  his  IsIth. 

UNIFORM  WITH  BYRON  AND  MOORE. 

THK  AhUVK  WORKS  C.XN  SR  HAD  IN  SEVERAL  VARIETIES  OP  BINDING. 

GOLDSMITH’S  ANIMATED  NATURE. 

IN  TWO  VOLUMES,  OCTAVO. 

BEAUTIFULLY  ILLUSTRATED  WITH  385  PLATES. 

CONTAINING  A  HISTORY  OF  THE  EARTH.  ANIMALS,  BIRDS,  AND  FISHES;  FORMING 
THE  MOST  COMPLETE  NATURAL  HISTORY  EVER  PUBLISHED. 

This  is  a  work  that  should  be  in  the  library  of  every  family,  having  been  written  by  one  of  the 
most  talented  authors  in  the  English  language. 

“Goldsmith  can  never  be  made  obsolete  while  delicate  genius,  exquisite  feeling, fine  invention, 
'he  most  harmonious  metre,  and  the  happiest  diction,  are  at  all  valued.” 


BIGLAND’S  NATURAL  HISTORY 

O*  AsimaLi,  Birds,  Fishes,  Reptiles,  and  Insects.  Illustrated  with  numerous  and  beautiful  Engrav 
mgs.  By  JOHN  BIGLAND,  author  of  a  “  View  of  the  World,”  “I«tter8  on 
Universal  History,”  3tc.  Complete  in  1  vol.,  12mo 


LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMBO  &  CO.’S  PUBLICATIONS. 


THE  POWER  AND  PROGRESS  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


THE  UNITED  STATES;  Its  Power  and  Progress. 

BY  GUIIiliAUME  TELL  POUSSIN, 

LATE  MINISTER  OF  THE  REPUBLIC  OF  FRANCE  TO  THE  UNITED  STATES. 
FIRST  AMERICAN,  FROM  THE  THIRD  PARIS  EDITION. 

TEANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH  BY  EDMOND  L.  DU  BARRY,  M.  D., 

SURGEON  U.  S.  NAVY. 

In  one  large  octavo  volume. 

SCHOOLCRAFT’S  GREAT  NATIONAL  WORK  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRIBES  OF 

THE  UNITED  STATES. 

WITH  BEAUTIFUL  AND  ACCURATE  COLOURED  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


HiSTOBIdAL  AND  STATESTIOAl  INFORMATION 

RESPKCTINO  TKK 

HISTORY,  CONDITION  AND  PROSPECTS 

OK  THE 

Snbinn  bribes  nf ITnittb 

COLLECTED  AND  PREPARED  UNDER  THE  DIRECTION  OF  THE  BUREAU  OF  HJDIAN 

AFFAIRS,  PER  ACT  OF  MARCH  3,  1&47, 

BY  HENRY  R.  SCHOOLCRiiPT, 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  S.  EASTMAN,  Capt.  U.  S.  A. 

PUBLISHED  BY  AUTHORITY  OF  CONGRESS. 


THE  ASIERICAN  GARDENER’S  CALENDAR, 

ADAPTED  TO  THE  CLIMATE  AND  SEASONS  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

Containing  a  complete  account  of  all  the  work  necessary  to  be  done  in  the  Kitchen  Garden,  Fruit 
Garden,  Orchard,  Vineyard,  Nursery,  Pleasure-Ground,  Flower  Garden,  Green-house,  Hot-house, 
and  Forcing  Frames,  for  every  month  in  the  year ;  with  ample  Practical  Directions  for  performing 
the  same. 

Also,  general  as  well  as  minute  instructions  for  laying  out  or  erecting  each  and  every  of  the  above 
departments,  according  to  modern  taste  and  the  most  approved  plans ;  the  Ornamental  Planting  of 
Pleasure  Grounds,  in  the  ancient  and  modern  style ;  the  cultivation  of  Thom  Quicks,  and  other 
plants  suitable  for  Live  Hedges,  with  the  best  methods  of  making  them,  <tc.  To  which  are  annexe 
catalogues  of  Kitchen  Garden  Plants  and  Herbs;  Aromatic.  Pot,  and  Sweet  Herbs;  Medicinal 
Plants,  and  the  most  important  Grapes,  <kc.,  used  in  rural  economy;  with  the  soil  best  adapted  to 
their  cultivation.  Together  with  a  copious  Index  to  the  body  of  the  work. 

BY  BERNARD  M'MAHON. 

Tenth  Edition,  greatly  improved.  In  one  volume,  octava 


THE  USEFUL  AND  THE  BEAUTIFUL; 

OK.  DOMESTIC  AND  MORAL  DUTIES  NECESSARY  TO  SOCIAL  HAPPINESS. 

BEAUTIFULLY  ILLUSTRATED. 

16mo.  square  cloth.  Price  50  and  75  cents. 


LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMB(3  &  CO.’S  PUBLICATIONS. 


THE  FARMER’S  AND  PLANTER’S  ENCYCLOP/EDIA. 

/armor's  n't  filmin' ^  (gnqtlnpirMa  nf  Rttml  affairs. 

BY  CUTHBERT  W.  JOHNSON. 

ADAPTED  TO  THE  UNITED  STATES  BY  GOUVERNEUR  EMERSON. 

nioatrated  by  seventeen  beautiful  Engravings  of  Cattle,  Horses,  Sheep,  the  varieties  of  Wheat, 
Barley,  Oats,  Grasses,  the  Weeds  of  Ag^riculture,  <kc. ;  besides  numerous  Engrav¬ 
ings  on  wood  of  the  most  important  implements  of  Agriculture,  <kc. 

This  standard  work  contains  the  latest  and  best  information  upon  all  subjects  connected  with 
burning,  and  appertaining  to  the  country ;  treating  of  the  great  crops  of  grain,  hay,  cotton,  hemp, 
tobacco,  rice,  sugar,  <kc.  <5tc. ;  of  horses  and  mules ;  of  cattle,  with  minute  particulars  relating  to 
eheese  and  butter-making ;  of  fowls,  including  a  description  of  capon-making,  with  drawings  of  the 
instruments  employed ;  of  bees,  and  the  Russian  and  other  systems  of  managing  bees  and  con¬ 
structing  hives.  Long  articles  on  the  uses  and  preparation  of  bones,  lime,  guano,  and  all  sorts  of 
animal,  mineral,  and  vegetable  substances  employed  as  manures.  Descriptions  of  the  most  approved 
ploughs,  harrows,  threshers,  and  every  other  agricultural  machine  and  implement;  of  fruit  and 
shade  trees,  forest  trees,  and  shrubs ;  of  weeds,  and  alt  kinds  of  flies,  and  destructive  worms  and 
msects,  and  the  best  means  of  getting  rid  of  them ;  together  with  a  thousand  other  matters  relating 
o  rural  life,  about  which  information  is  so  constaDtly  desired  by  all  residents  of  the  country. 

IN  ONE  LARGE  OCTAVO  VOLUME. 

MASON’S  FARRIER-FARMERS’  EDITION. 

Price,  62  cents. 

THE  PRACTICAL  FARRIER,  FOR  FARMERS: 

COMPRIBINO  A  GENERAL  DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  NOBLE  AND  DSEFDL  ANIMAL, 

THE  HORSE; 

WITH  MODES  OF  MANAGEMENT  IN  ALL  CASES,  AND  TREATMENT  IN  DISEASE. 

TO  WHICH  IS  ADDED, 

A  PRIZE  ESSAY  ON  MULES  |  AND  AN  APPENDIX, 

Containing  Recipes  for  Diseases  of  Horses.  Oxen,  Cows,  Calves,  Sheep,  Dogs,  Swine,  die.  Ac. 

BV  RICHARD  iyi.A.SO^,  M.  D., 

Formerly  of  Surry  County,  Virginia. 

In  one  volume,  12mo.;  bound  in  cloth,  gilt. 

MASON’S  FARRIER  AND  STUD-BOOK-NEW  EDITION. 


THE  GENTLEMAN’S  NEW  POCKET  FARRIER: 

COMPRISING  A  general  DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  NOBLE  AND  DSEFDL  ANIMAL, 

THE  HORSE; 

WITH  MODES  OF  MANAGEMENT  IN  ALL  CASES,  AND  TREATMENT  IN  DISEASE.. 

BV  RIC11R.RD  IHR-SOXT,  M.  D., 

Formerly  of  Surry  County,  Virginia. 

/o  which  is  added,  A  PRIZE  ESSAY  ON  MULES;  and  AN  APPENDIX,  containing  Recipes  loe 
Diseases  of  Horses,  Oxen,  Cows,  Calves,  Sheep,  Dogs,  Swine,  dtc.  <kc. ;  with  Annals 
of  the  Turf,  Amencan  Stud-Book,  Rules  for  Training,  Racing,  <ko 

WITH  A  SUPPLEMENT,' 

Comprising  an  Essay  on  Domestic  Animals,  especially  the  Home ;  with  Remarks  on  Treatment  aaa 
Breeding ;  together  with  Trotting  and  Racing  Tables,  shoM  mg  the  best  time  on  record  at  on* 
two,  three  and  four  mile  heats  ;  Pedigrees  of  Winning  Horses,  since  1839,  and  of  the  mort 
eelebrated  Stallions  and  Mares;  with  useful  Calving  and  Lambing  Tables.  By 
J.  S.  SKINNER,  Editor  now  of  the  Farmer’s  Library,  New  York,  Jto.  Ac. 

B  13 


LIPPINCOTT,  ORAMBO  k  CO.’S  PDBLICATION8. 


HINDS’S  FARRIERY  AND  STUD-BOOK-NEW  EDITION. 


FARRIERY, 

TAUGHT  ON  A  NEW  AND  EASY  PLAN: 

BEING 

a  €rtnti0E  nn  tljE  BisEastH  nni  SltrihEta  nf  tjiE  Inr® ; 

Yith  Instructions  to  the  Shoeing  Smith,  Farrier,  and  Groom ;  preceded  by  a  Popular  Description  ol 
the  Animal  Functions  in  Health,  and  how  these  are  to  be  restored  when  disordered. 

BY  JOHN  HINDS,  VETERINARY  SURGEON. 

With  considerable  Additions  and  Improvements,  particularly  adapted  to  this  country, 

BY  THOMAS  M.  SMITH, 

Veterinary  Surgeon,  and  Member  of  the  London  Veterinary  Medical  Society, 

WITH  A  SUPPLEMENT,  BY  J.  8.  SKINNER. 

The  publishers  have  received  numerous  flattering  notices  of  the  great  practical  value  of  these 
works.  The  distinguished  editor  of  the  American  Farmer,  speaking  of  them,  observes: — “We 
cannot  too  highly  recommend  these  books,  and  therefore  advise  every  owner  of  a  horse  to  obtain 
them.” 

“  There  are  receipts  in  those  books  that  show  how  Founder  may  be  cured,  and  the  traveller  pur¬ 
sue  his  journey  the  next  day,  by  giving  a  tablespoonful  of  alum.  This  was  got  from  Dr.  P.  Thomtcn, 
of  Montpelier,  Rappahannock  county,  Virginia,  as  founded  on  his  own  observation  in  several  cases.” 

“The  constant  demand  for  Mason’s  and  Hinds’s  Farrier  has  induced  the  publishers,  Messrs.  Lip- 
pincotL  Grambo  <fe  Co.,  to  put  forth  new  editions,  with  a  ‘  Supplement’  of  100  pages,  by  J.  S.  Skinner, 
Esq.  We  should  have  sought  to  render  an  acceptable  service  to  our  agricultural  readers,  by  giving 
a  chapter  from  the  Supplement,  ‘On  the  Relations  between  Man  and  the  Domestic  Animals,  espe¬ 
cially  the  Horse,  and  the  Obligations  they  impose  ;’  or  the  one  on  ‘  The  Form  of  Animals ;’  but  tnat 
either  one  of  them  would  overrun  the  space  here  allotted  to  such  subjects.” 

“  Lists  of  Medicines,  and  other  articles  which  ought  to  be  at  hand  about  every  training  and  livery 
stable,  and  every  Farmer’s  and  Breeder’s  establishment,  will  be  found  in  these  valuable  works.” 


TO  CARPENTERS  AND  MECHANICS. 

J ust  Published. 


A  NEW  AND  IMPROVED  EDITION  OP 

THE  CARPENTER^S  NEW  GUIDE, 

BEING  A  COMPLETE  BOOK  OF  LINES  FOB 

iI.RPEM’TRTr  ANiy  JOIirRR?; 

Treating  fully  on  Practical  Geometry,  SaflBl’s  Brick  and  Plaster  Groins,  N  iches  of  every  deeoriptioD, 
Sky-lights,  Lines  for  Roofs  and  Domes ;  with  a  great  variety  of  Designs  for  Roofs, 

Trussed  Girders,  Floors,  Domes,  Bridges,  <fec..  Angle  Bars  for  Shop 
Fronts,  <5ic.,  and  Raking  Mouldings. 

ALSO, 

Additional  Plans  for  various  Stair-Cases,  with  the  Lines  for  producing  the  Face  and  Falling  Moulda 
never  before  published,  and  greatly  superior  to  those  given  in  a  former  edition  of  this  work. 

BY  WILLIAM  JOHNSON,  ARCHITECT. 

OF  PHILADELPHIA. 

rhe  whole  founded  on  true  Geometrical  Principles ;  the  Theory  and  Practice  well  explained  and 
fully  exemplified,  on  eighty-three  copper  plates,  including  some  Observations  and  Calculations  on 
iUe  Strength  of  Timber 

BY  PETER  NICHOLSON, 

auttkor  at  “The  Carpenter  and  Jomer’s  Assistant,”  “The  Student’s  Instructor  to  Om  ftwm 

Orders,”  <5mj. 

Thirteenth  Edition.  One  volume,  4to.,  well  bound. 

14 


LIPPINCOTT,  QRAMBO  &  CO.’S  PUBLICATIONS 


A  DICTIONARY  OF  SELECT  AND  POPULAR  QUOTATIONS, 

WHICH  ARE  IN  DAILY  USE. 

TAKEN  FROM  THE  LATIN,  FRENCH,  GRJiEK.  SPANISH  AND  ITALIAN  LANGUAGES. 
Together  with  a  copious  Collection  of  Law  Maxims  and  Law  Terms,  translated  into 
English,  with  Illustrations,  Historical  and  Idiomatic. 

NEW  AMERICAN  EDITION.  CORRECTED.  WITH  ADDITIONS. 

One  volume,  12mo. 

This  volume  comprises  a  copious  collection  of  legal  and  other  terms  which  are  in  common  use, 
vrth  English  translations  and  historical  illustrations;  and  we  should  judge  its  author  had  surely 
een  to  a  great  “  Feast  of  Languages,”  and  stole  all  the  scraps.  A  work  of  this  character  should 
have  an  extensive  sale,  as  it  entirely  obviates  a  serious  difficulty  in  which  most  readers  are  involved 
by  the  frequent  oticurrence  of  Latin,  Greek,  and  French  passages,  which  we  suppose  are  introduced 
by  authors  for  a  mere  show  of  learning  —  a  difficulty  very  perplexing  to  readers  in  general.  This 
“  Dictionary  of  Quotations,”  concerning  which  too  much  cannot  be  said  in  its  favour,  effectually 
removes  the  difficulty,  and  gives  the  reader  an  advantage  over  the  author;  for  we  believe  a  majority 
are  themselves  ignorant  of  the  meaning  of  the  terms  they  employ.  Very  few  truly  learned  authors 
will  insult  their  readers  by  introducing  Latin  or  French  quotations  in  their  writings,  when  “  plain 
English”  will  do  as  well ;  but  we  will  not  enlarge  on  this  point. 

If  the  book  is  useful  to  those  unacquainted  with  other  languages,  it  is  no  less  valuable  to  the 
classically  educated  as  a  book  of  reference,  and  answers  all  the  purposes  of  a  Lexicon  —  indeed,  on 
many  accounts,  it  is  better.  It  saves  the  trouble  of  tumbling  over  the  larger  volumes,  to  which 
every  one,  and  especially  those  engaged  in  the  legal  profession,  are  verv  often  subjected.  It  should 
have  a  place  in  every  library  in  the  country. 


RUSCHENBERGER’S 

COMPLETE,  WITH 


NATURAL  HISTORY', 

NEW  GLOSSARY. 


d^lrnuntfi 


EMBRACING  ZOOLOGY. 


3)loturaI  listorq, 

BOTANY  AND  GEOLOGY! 


FOR  SCHOOLS.  COLLEGES  AND  FAMILIES. 


BV  W.  S.  W.  RUSCHBNBBBGBB,  BI.  D. 

IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 

WITH  NEARLY  ONE  THOUSAND  ILLUSTRATIONS,  AND  A  COPIOUS  GLOSSARY. 
VoL  L  contains  Vertebrate  Animals.  Vol.  11.  contains  Intervertebrate  Amnuds,  Botany,  and  Otology. 


A  Beautiful  and  Valuable  Presentation  Book. 


THE  POET'S  OFFERING. 

EDITED  BY  MRS.  HALE. 

With  a  Portrait  of  the  Editress,  a  Splendid  Illuminated  Title-Page,  and  Twelve  Beautiful  Engrav¬ 
ings  by  Sartain.  Bound  in  rich  Turkey  Morocco,  and  Extra  Cloth,  Gilt  Edge. 

To  those  who  wish  to  make  a  present  that  will  never  lose  its  value,  this  will  be  found  the  most 
desirable  Gift- Book  ever  published. 

“  W'e  commend  it  to  all  who  desire  to  present  a  friend  vvith  a  volume  not  only  very  beautiful,  but 
of  solid  mtnusic  value.”  —  Waskinoton  Union. 

“A  perfect  treasury  of  the  thoughts  and  fancies  of  the  best  English  and  American  Poets.  The 
paiier  and  printing  are  beautiful,  and  the  binding  rich,  elegant,  and  substantial;  the  most  sensible 
and  attractive  of  all  the  elegant  gift-books  we  have  seen.”  —  Evening  Bulletm. 

•‘The  publishers  deserve  the  thanks  of  the  public  for  so  happy  a  thought,  so  well  executed.  The 
engravings  are  by  the  best  artists,  and  the  other  portions  of  the  work  correspond  in  elegance.”-- 
Public  Ledger. 

“  There  is  no  book  of  selections  so  diversified  and  appropriate  within  our  knowledge.” — Pennsylv’n. 

*  It  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  as  well  as  elegant  books  ever  published  in  this  country.” —  Godey’t 
Lady's  Book. 

“  K  18  the  must  beautifUi  and  the  must  useful  offering  ever  bestowed  on  the  y  ublic.  No  individaaJ 
of  literary  taste  will  venture  to  be  without  it.”—  The  City  Item 


LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMBO  &  CO.’S  PUBLICATIONS. 

THE  YOUNG  DOMINICAN; 

OR,  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  THE  INQUISITION, 

AND  OTHER  SECRET  SOCIETIES  OF  SPAIN. 

BY  M.  V.  DE  FEREAL. 

WITH  HISTORICAL  NOTES,  BY  M.  MANUEL  DE  CUENDIAS 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH. 

ILLUSTRATED  WITH  TWENTY  SPLENDID  ENGRAVINGS  BY  FRENCH  ARTISTS 

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SAY’S  POLITICAL  ECONOMY.  ' 

A  TREATISE  ON  POLITICAL  ECONOMY ; . 

Or,  The  Production,  Distribution  and  Consumption  of  Wealth. 

BTT  JBiLST  BilFTISTi:  SAH, 

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It  would  be  beneficial  to  our  country  if  all  those  who  are  aspiring  to  oflfice,  were  required  by  then 
constituents  to  be  familiar  with  the  pages  of  Say. 

The  distinguished  biographer  of  the  author,  in  noticing  this  work,  observes :  “  Happily  for  science 
he  commenced  that  study  which  forms  the  basis  of  his  admirable  Treatise  on  Political  Economy ;  ■ 
work  which  not  only  improved  under  his  hand  with  every  successive  edition,  but  has  been  translated 
into  roost  of  the  European  languages.” 

The  Editor  of  the  North  American  Review,  speaking  of  Say,  observes,  that  “  he  is  the  mo«t 
popular,  and  perhaps  the  most  able  writer  on  Political  Economy,  since  the  time  of  Smith.” 

LAURENCE  STERNE’S  WORKS, 

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Captive  —  even  the  Dead  Ass,  —  this  is  all  we  have  to  say  of  Sterne ;  and  in  the  memory  of  these 
characters,  histories,  and  sketches,  a  thousand  follies  and  worse  than  follies  are  forgotten.  The 
volume  is  E  very  handsome  one. 

^THE  MEXICAN  WAR  AND  ITS  HEROES, 

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Fancj  Breads,  Pastes,  Puddings,  Cakes,  Creams,  Ices,  Jellies,  Preserves,  Marma¬ 
lades,  <tc.  <Scc.  <tc.  Together  with  various  Miscellaneous  Recipes, 
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WITH  NOTES,  BY  HON.  SAMUEL  R.  THURSTON 

Delegate  to  Congress  from  that  Territory, 


With  numerous  Plates  and  Maps. 


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OR,  SOUTHERN  LIFE  AS  IT  IS 


BY  MRS.  MARY  H.  EASTMAN. 

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This  volume  presents  a  picture  of  Southern  Life,  taken  at  different  points  of  view  from  the  one 
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miliar  with  the  many  varied  aspects  assumed  by  domestic  servitude  in  that  sunny  region,  and  there¬ 
fore  feels  competent  to  give  pictures  of  “Southern  Life,  as  it  is.” 

Pledged  to  no  clique  or  party,  and  free  from  the  pressure  of  any  and  all  extraneous  influence*, 
she  has  written  her  book  with  a  view  to  its  truthfulness;  and  the  public  at  the  North,  as  well  as 
at  the  South,  will  find  in  “  Aunt  Phillis’s  Cabin”  not  the  distorted  picture  of  an  interested  painter, 
but  the  faithful  transcript  of  a  Daguerreotypist. 


AVINDICATION  OF  THE  IDEA  OF  HISTORICAL  DEVELOPMENTS 


BY  PHILIP  SCHAF. 
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B* 


lu  one  volume,  12mo 

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DODD’S  LECTURES. 

DISCOURSES  TO  YOUNG  MEN. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  NUMEROUS  HIGHLY  INTERESTING  ANECDOTES. 

BT  WILUAia  DODD,  DD.  D., 

CHAPLAIN  IN  ORDINARY  TO  HIS  MAJESTY  GEORGE  THE  THIRD. 

FIRST  AMERICAN  EDITION,  WITH  ENGRAVINGS. 

One  volume,  18mo. 


THE  IRIS: 

AN  ORIGINAL  SOUVENIR. 

With  Contributions  from  the  First  Writers  in  the  Country. 

EDITED  BY  PROP.  JOHN  S.  HART. 

With  Splendid  Illuminations  and  Steel  Engraving.  .  Bound  in  Turkey  Morocco  and  rich  Papier 

Mache  Binding. 

IN  ONE  VOLUME,  OCTAVO. 

Its  contents  are  entirely  original.  Among  the  contributors  are  names  well  known  in  the  republic 
of  letters ;  such  as  Mr.  Boker,  Mr.  Stoddard,  Prof.  Molfat,  Edith  May,  Mrs.  Sigourney,  Caroline  May, 
Mrs.  Kinney,  Mrs.  Butler,  Mrs.  Pease,  Mrs.  Swift,  Mr.  Van  Bibber,  Rev.  Charles  T.  Brooks,  Mrs. 
Dorr,  Erastus  W.  Ellsworth,  Miss  E.  W.  Barnes,  Mrs.  Williams,  Mary  Young,  Dr.  Gardette,  Alice 
Carey,  Phebe  Carey,  Augusta  Browne,  Hamilton  Browne,  Caroline  Eustis,  Margaret  Junkin,  Miuia 
J,  B.  Browne,  Miss  Starr,  Mrs.  Brotherson,  Kate  Campbell,  <tc. 

denis  ixm  ttje  |arreb  Mine; 

OR,  HOLY  THOUGHTS  UPON  SACRED  SUBJECTS. 

BY  CLERGYMEN  OF  THE  EPISCOPAL  CHURCH. 

EDITED  BY  THOMAS  WYATT,  A.M. 

•  « 

In  one  volume,  12mo. 

WITH  SEVEN  BEAUTIFUL  STEEL  ENGRAVINGS. 

The  contents  of  this  work  are  chiefly  by  clergymen  of  the  Episcopal  Church.  Among  the  con¬ 
tributors  will  be  found  the  names  of  the  Right  Rev.  Bishop  Potter,  Bishop  Hopkins,  Bishop  Smith, 
Bishop  Johns,  and  Bishop  Doane ;  and  the  Rev.  Drs.  H.  V.  D.  Johns,  Coleman,  and  Butler ;  Rev.  6. 
T.  Bedell,  M'Cabe,  Ogilsby,  <kc.  The  illustrations  are  rich  and  exquisitely  wrought  engravings  upon 
t.ie  following  subjects: — “Samuel  before  Eli,”  “Peter  and  John  healing  the  Lame  Man,”  “The 
Resurrection  of  Christ,”  “Joseph  sold  by  his  Brethren,”  “The  Tables  of  the  Law,”  “Christ’s 
Agony  in  the  Garden,”  and  “  The  Flight  into  Egypt.”  These  subjects,  with  many  others  in  proM 
and  verse,  are  ably  treated  throughout  the  work. 


ANCIENT  CHRISTIANITY  EXEMPLIFIED, 

In  the  Frivate«  Domestic,  Social,  and  Civil  Life  of  the  Primitive 
Christians,  and  in  the  Original  Institutions,  OlHces, 
Ordinances,  and  Rites  of  the  Church* 

BY  REV.  LYMAN  COLEMAN,  D.D. 

In  one  volume  8vo.  Price  $2  50. 

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LONZ  POWERS;  Or,  The  Regulators. 

A  ROMANCE  OF  KENTUCKY. 

FOUNDED  ON  FACTS. 

BY  JAmES  WEIR,  ESQ. 

IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 

The  scenes,  characters,  and  incidents  m  these  rolumes  have  been  copied  from  nature,  and  from 
leal  life.  They  are  represented  as  taking  place  at  that  period  in  the  history  of  Kentucky,  when 
the  Indian,  driven,  after  many  a  hard-fought  field,  from  his  favourite  hunting-ground,  was  succeeded 
by  a  rude  and  unlettered  population,  interspersed  with  organized  bands  of  desperadoes,  scarcely 
less  savage  than  the  red  men  they  had  displaced.  The  author  possesses  a  vigorous  and  graphic 
pen,  and  has  produced  a  very  interesting  romance,  which  gives  us  a  striking  portrait  of  the  times 
he  describes. 


A  PRACTICAL  TREATISE  ON  BUSINESS; 

OR,  HOW  TO  GET,  SAVE,  SPEND,  GIVE,  LEND,  AND  BEQUEATH  MONEY; 

WITH  AN  INQUIRY  INTO  THE  CHANCES  OF  SUCCESS  AND  CAUSES 

OF  FAILURE  IN  BUSINESS. 

BY  EDWIN  T.  FREEDLY. 

Also,  Prize  Essays,  Statistics,  Miscellanies,  and  numerous  private  letters  from  successful  and 

distinguished  business  men. 

12mo.,  cloth.  Price  One  Dollar. 

The  object  of  this  treatise  is  fourfold.  First,  the  elevation  of  the  business  character,  and  to  define 
clearly  the  limits  within  which  it  is  not  only  proper  but  obligatory  to  get  money.  Secondly,  to  lay 
down  the  principles  which  must  be  observed  to  insure  success,  and  what  must  be  avoided  to  escape 
failure.  Thirdly,  to  give  the  mode  of  management  in  certain  prominent  pursuits  adopted  by  the 
most  successful,  from  which  men  in  all  kinds  of  business  may  derive  profitable  hints.  Fourthly,  to 
afford  a  work  of  solid  interest  to  those  who  read  without  expectation  of  pecuniary  benefit. 


A  MANUAL  OF  POLITENESS, 

COMPRISINO  THB 

PRINCIPLES  OF  ETIQUEUE  AND  RULES  OF  BEHAVIOUR 

IN  GENTEEL  SOCIETY,  FOR  PERSONS  OP  BOTH  SEXES. 

18mo.,  with  Plates. 


Book  of  Politeness. 

THE  GENTLEMAN  AND  LADY^S 

BOOK  OF  POLITENESS  AND  PROPRIETY  OF  DEPORTMENl 

DEDICATED  TO  THE  YOUTH  OP  BOTH  SEXES. 

BY  MADAIVIE  CELNART. 

Translated  from  the  Sixth  Paris  Edition,  Enlarged  and  Improved. 

Fifth  American  Fdition. 

One  volume,  18mo. 

THE  ANTEDILUVIANS;  Or,  The  World  Destroyed. 

A  NARRATIVE  POEM,  IN  TEN  BOOKS. 

BY  JAMES  M‘HENRY,  M.D. 

One  volume,  18mo 

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Bennett’s  (Rev.  John)  Letters  to  a  Young  Lady, 

ON  A  VARIETY  OF  SUBJECTS  CALCULATED  TO  IMPROVE  THE  HEART, 

TO  FORM  THE  MANNERS.  AND  ENLIGHTEN  THE  UNDERSTANDING. 

“  That  our  daughters  may  be  as  polished  comers  of  the  temple.” 

The  pubUshers  sincerely  hope  (for  the  happiness  of  mankind)  that  a  copy  of  this  valuable  littl* 
work  will  be  found  the  companion  of  every  young  lady,  as  much  of  the  happiness  of  every  family 
depends  on  the  proper  cultivation  of  the  female  mind. 

THE  DAUGHTER’S  OWN  BOOK: 

OR,  PRACTICAL  HINTS  FROM  A  FATHER  TO  HIS  DAUGHTER. 

One  volume,  18mo. 

This  is  one  of  the  most  practical  and  truly  valuable  treatises  on  the  culture  and  discipline  of  the 
fcmale  mind,  which  has  hitherto  been  published  in  this  country ;  and  the  publishers  are  very  confi* 
dent,  from  the  great  demand  for  tliis  invaluable  little  work,  that  ere  long  it  will  be  found  in  the 
library  of  every  young  lady. 

THE  AMERICAN  CHESTERFIELD : 

Or,  "Yoiitli's  Guide  to  tlie  Way  to  Wealth,  Hoioar,  and  Distinction,"  k  18nio. 

CONTAINING  ALSO  A  COMPLETE  TREATISE  ON  THE  ART  OF  CARVING. 

”  We  most  cordially  recommend  the  American  Chesterfield  to  general  attention ;  but  to  young 
persons  particularly,  as  one  of  the  best  work.s  of  the  kind  that  has  ever  been  published  in  this 
country.  It  cannot  be  too  highly  appreciated,  nor  its  perusal  be  unproductive  of  satisfaction  and 
usefulness.” 

SENECA’S  MORALS. 

BY  WAY  OF  ABSTRACT  TO  WHICH  IS  ADDED,  A  DISCOURSE  UNDER 
THE  TITLE  OF  AN  AFTER-THOUGHT. 

BY  SIR  ROGER  L’ESTRANGE,  KNT. 

A  new,  fine  edition ;  one  volume,  18mo. 

A  copy  of  this  valuable  little  work  should  be  found  in  every  family  hbrary. 


NEW  SONG-BOOK, 


drigg’s  lauttiorn  nnh  Brsttra  Inngatu; 

BEING  A  CHOICE  COLLECTION  OF  THE  MOST  FASHIONABLE  SONGS,  MANY  OF  WHICH 

ARE  ORIGINAL. 

In  one  volume,  18mo. 

Great  care  was  taken,  in  the  selection,  to  admit  no  song  that  contained,  in  the  slightest  degresi 
any  indelicate  or  improper  allusions ;  and  with  great  propriety  it  may  claim  the  title  of  “  The  Par¬ 
lour  Song- Book,  or  Songster.”  The  immortal  Shakspeare  observes  — 

“  The  man  that  hath  not  music  in  himself, 

Nor  is  not  moved  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds. 

Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils.” 


ROBOTHAM’S  POCKET  FRENCH  DICTIONARY. 

CAREFULLY  REVISED, 

AND  THE  PRONUNWATiaN  OF  ALL  THE  DIFFICULT  WORDS  ADDED. 

20 


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THE  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF  TRISTRAM  SHANDY,  GENTLEMAN. 

COMPRISINO  THE  HUMOROUS  ADVENTURES  OF 

UNCLE  TOBY  AND  CORPORAL  TRIM. 

BT  Ii.  STBRITE. 

Beautifully  Illustrated  by  Darley*  Stitched* 

A  SENTIMENTAL  JOURNEY. 

BY  L.  STERNE. 

Illustrated  as  above  by  Darley*  Stitched* 

The  beauties  of  this  author  are  so  well  known,  and  his  errors  in  style  and  expression  so  lew  and 
fsr  tMtween,  that  one  reads  with  renewed  lielight  his  delicate  turns,  iic. 

THE  LIFE  OF  GENERAL  JACKSON, 

WITH  A  LIKENESS  OF  THE  OLD  HERO. 

One  volume,  18mo. 


LIFE  OF  PAUL  JONES. 

In  one  volume,  12mo. 

WITH  ONE  HUNDRED  ILLUSTRATIONS 

BY  JAMES  HAMILTON. 

'the  work  is  compiled  from  his  original  journals  and  correspondence,  and  includes  an  account  of 
his  seryicea  in  the  American  Revolution,  and  in  the  war  between  the  Russians  and  Turks  in  tho 
Black  Sea.  There  is  scarcely  any  Naval  Hero,  of  any  age,  who  combined  in  his  character  so  much 
of  the  adventurous,  skilful  and  daring,  as  Paul  Jones.  The  incidents  of  his  life  are  almost  as  start 
ling  and  absorbing  as  those  of  romance.  His  achievements  during  the  American  Revolution — the 
fight  between  the  Bon  Homme  Richard  and  Serapis,  the  most  desperate  naval  action  on  record  — 
and  the  alarm  into  which,  with  so  small  a  force,  he  threw  the  coasts  of  England  and  Scotland  —  aro 
matters  comparatively  well  known  to  Americans ;  but  the  incidents  of  his  subsequent  career  have 
been  veiled  in  obscurity,  which  is  dissipated  by  this  biography.  A  book  like  this,  narrating  the 
actions  of  such  a  man,  ought  to  meet  with  an  extensive  sale,  and  become  as  popular  as  Robinson 
Crusoe  in  fiction,  or  Weems’s  Life  of  Marion  and  Washington,  and  similar  books,  in  fact.  It  con¬ 
tains  400  pages,  has  a  handsome  portrait  and  medallion  likeness  of  Jones,  and  is  illustrated  with 
numerous  original  wood  engravings  of  naval  scenes  and  distinguished  men  with  whom  he  was 
familiar. 


THE  GREEK  EXILE} 

Or,  A  Narrative  of  the  Captivity  and  Escape  of  Christophorus  Plato  Castanis, 

DURING  THE  MASSACRE  ON  THE  ISLAND  OF  SCIO  BY  THE  TURKS 

TOGETHER  WITH  VARIOUS  ADVENTURES  IN  GREECE  AND  AMERICA. 


WRITTEN  BY  HIMSELF, 

Author  of  an  Essay  on  the  Ancient  and  Modem  Greek  Languages;  Interpretation  of  the  Attribute 
of  the  Pnncipal  Fabulous  Deities  ;  The  Jewish  Maiden  of  Scio’s  Citadel ,  and 
the  Greek  Boy  in  the  Sunday-SchooL 

One  volume,  12mo. 


THE  YOUNG  CHORISTER; 

k  CoUection  of  New  and  Beautiful  Tunes,  adapted  to  the  use  of  Sabbath-Schools,  from  some  of 
most  distinguished  composers  ;  together  with  many  of  the  author’s  compositions. 

EDITED  BY  MINARD  W.  WILSON. 

21 


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CAMP  LIFE  or  A  VOLUNTEER. 

A  Campaign  in  Mexico;  Or,  A  Glimpse  at  Life  in  Camp. 

BY  “ONE  WHO  HAS  SEEN  THE  ELEPHANT.” 


life  nf  deneeal  3or[ian|  daqlnr, 


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